


Fallout: Adaptions

by nan00k



Series: Fallout [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan00k/pseuds/nan00k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>#10 "Truth or Dare" - A game of truth or dare among the NEST mechs and humans leads to Prowl having another bad day. (AU 2007, Falloutverse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forward

_**Fallout: Adaptions** _ **  
Forward**

Welcome to _Fallout: Adaptions_! This will be the placeholder story for any and all future installments I write for the _Fallout_ universe.

If you are not a previous reader of either _Fallout_ or _Fallout: Apocalypse_ , I humbly suggest you do read them, as most of these chapters will make no sense to you otherwise.

For old readers: welcome back! You can expect more installments of the _Fallout_ verse, with most of its cast, here. There will be stories written during the _Fallout_ time period, during the _Fallout: Apocalypse_ time period, and also stories written **before** and **after** the series overall.

That said, **be warned for potential spoilers, especially for** _ **Fallout: Apocalypse**_ **.** I will not post any spoiler-ish stories until _Fallout: Apocalypse_ is completed (as of March 22, 2012, it is not.) I will list the era of each one-shot at the beginning of each chapter so you will know when/where it is taking place, in addition to pairings and whatnot. All chapter markers in the pull-down list will be marked with each era for added sorting convenience.

There will also be mini-arcs with their own semi-major plots within _Fallout: Adaptions_ , which I will attempt to put in order. XD We'll see about that. For the most part, for any chapters that take place after _Fallout: Apocalypse_ , I will include the year in the beginning of each segment, so you will have some sort of idea when it is chronologically happening, _á-la_ _Fallout_.

I hope you will enjoy the various one-shots and I hope to continue writing in this all too addicting universe for quite a bit. :) Enjoy!

Much love,  
Nan00k


	2. Thank the Rain (Fallout)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, technically I shouldn’t be putting this up until I finish "Apocalypse," but I wanted to get this little story up somewhere. Femme4jack requested some Vortex/Rachel shenanigans with pillows, so, uh, I tried. LOL. Enjoy your angsty pairing of robot-human DOOM. This is also completely un-beta'd, so apologies for any mistakes!
> 
>  **TITLE** : Thank the Rain  
>  **ERA** : Fallout (pre-Apocalypse)  
>  **RATING** : K/G (…really?)  
>  **CHARACTERS** : Rachel, Vortex (background ensemble)  
>  **CHAPTER WARNINGS** : It's Rachel/Vortex. YOU KNOW HOW THIS WORKS. Also, sappiness overload!
> 
> \---  
> Overall Warnings: canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.  
> \---

He had to be dreaming. Except, dreams were for organics. Vortex had never dreamt. He didn’t even know what it was like to experience a dream.

But he relatively certain he was dreaming anyway, because the sheer impossibility of the situation seemed to match up nicely with the crazy description of human dreams.

It had been a miserable day to start with, with occasional drips coming from the dark clouds above them, but the humans were the ones to really complain. Vortex was more irritated by the fact they had had to go into yet _another_ ruined city to grab supplies for the humans. It always felt pointless to stand there and watch the humans hurriedly look for food or other gear. He knew he wasn’t the only one in their group who wished humans had fewer needs than they did, but he supposed there was no way around it.

And then, of course, it got worse. At the same time as Barns claimed they just needed to find stronger jackets and then they could leave, the skies opened up and unleashed a furious downpour. Vortex snarled as the humans screeched and dove for cover. The most logical place to put them would be in the buildings, but they were in a city. A city was always a target for roaming drones.

“We can’t just wait out here an' some in there,” Jazz said, over the sound of the rain. It was oddly heavy and seemed to be unnaturally loud as it slammed into the standing mechs. “We gotta find somewhere we can all take cover at.”

That was not going to happen in a city like this. It wasn’t like Paris or London, Wheeljack lamented. The best they could do was find garages for the transformed mechs to hide out overnight, or if they were lucky, when the rain stopped and it was still light out, they could just leave for the cover of the forests. Thundercracker was the biggest concern to worry about, but Vortex wasn’t entirely sure where he’d be able to fit either. He'd probably have to stay bi-pedal.

It wasn’t much of a choice in the end. The rain clouds seemed to go on forever and Wheeljack’s meek weather predictions only confirmed that they were grounded for the evening. None of them liked camping out in a city, but that’s what they got for going into one, Vortex thought darkly.

The smaller mechs in their company, such as Arcee or Jazz, could squeeze into the shops with the humans, using debris and blankets for visual cover. Wheeljack found a garage a little ways down the street and Thundercracker was convinced he could take shelter under various debris near a collapsed multi-story building on the corner. Rachel and Jazz went with him to help.

That’s what led Vortex to the back of the row of stores they had been invading and yanking open a metal gate that covered the store’s loading dock. It was ridiculously loud in the dead-quiet street, but Vortex moved as quickly as he could. Once inside and out of the downpour, the mech closed the gate, casting the back of the shop into darkness. He managed to sit down properly, head almost touching the ceiling as he kicked various items out of his way and settled down. He could only hope the drones wouldn’t be able to detect him inside, but he felt vaguely safe.

With the radio waves silent, he assumed the others were under proper cover by that point. They had agreed to regroup in front of that row of shops at five AM sharp, granted the coast was clear. Vortex offlined his visor and considered just going into recharge now, strangely enjoying the stillness of the abandoned building—

Something clattered. Vortex froze first, because he had instantly determined it wasn’t a drone, considering the accompanying muttered curse was definitely human. Turning, Vortex saw the shadowed form of Rachel Cooper stumble into the back room, obviously having entered through the front. She glanced up at him (the mechs’ vision was always superior to humans’ in dark conditions, even without energy wasting night-vision) and waved stiffly before sitting down.

“…Oh.” He stared at the human as she began to disassemble her pack. “It’s you.”

“Hey,” Rachel muttered, pulling off her boots. Vortex peered past her into the darkness of the storefront she had come from, but she appeared to be the only human to have entered this particular store. Well, if anyone was going to be invading his peace and quiet, he supposed it could have been worse company—

Suddenly, Vortex felt his processors skip.

…Rachel was alone with him.

He was alone with Rachel.

_They were alone together._

And so, he felt like he was dreaming, if he actually knew what dreaming felt like. It was both a bad and a good dream, considering the threat of Rachel’s guardians knowing about the situation, but also the notion they were actually by _themselves_ for the first time in… well… a long time.

Vortex realized he hadn’t moved an inch, his visor burning through the darkness as he watched Rachel unpack. He wondered if she noticed his nervousness—or felt any sort of emotional reaction to him, either for that matter. It wasn’t—he _wasn’t_ going to act like a sparkling about this, Vortex told himself sharply, now in a dazed mixture of panic, elation, and heated embarrassment. It was just luck; irrelevant circumstances, not—not good luck, or—

“Everyone’s got a place to sleep,” Rachel said, interrupting his traitorous lines of thought. “I made sure Jazz got TC covered in that parking lot by the place he’s hiding at and didn’t feel like going all the way back to Barns, Kass and Danny.” She paused. “Blue is sleeping with them.”

Vortex winced and understood the logic in not going all the way back there. Not worth it at _all_.

That was enough of a wake-up call that Vortex shoved the inappropriate delight out of his processors and focused on staring at the wall. From the way Rachel had been moving around, he suspected she was just going to go to bed as well after eating something small. Her shuffling teetered off after a bit and Vortex felt a little more relaxed.

He needed to stop overanalyzing their interactions. A few years of enduring Jazz and Thundercracker’s fierce overprotectiveness had helped put up even more of a solid block between his desires and reality, but thinking about it (especially in such a situation like this) wasn’t helping. It was making things worse.

It wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t to be. Vortex offlined his visor once more, fighting a wallowing sense of disappointment.

And then, out of no where, something smacked him directly in the left side of his faceplates. Visor onlining instantly, Vortex was momentarily stunned with confusion. What the frag—?

It wasn’t hard, whatever had hit him. In fact, it felt… soft? What the frag was soft that could have hit him there? Had it been a fragging _bird_? Oh, Primus, if there was any wildlife living in that shop, he’d burn down the whole slagging complex—

A snort of laughter alerted him to look down. Rachel was suddenly standing, something in her hands. Adjusting his sight slightly, Vortex could see the faint outline of a rectangular, light-colored object. Judging by the sag and the way Rachel was holding it, it had to be a pillow.

…What.

Vortex stared at her, knowing his visor’s light was the only way she could see his expression, as much as it was. “…What?” he asked at length, now vaguely certain she had hit him in the face with a pillow. A _pillow_.

Rachel grinned in shameless imitation of her silver guardian. Vortex didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Probably not.

“It’s called a pillow,” she said.

Staring harder, Vortex desperately tried to comprehend why. “…I know that,” he said. Where the frag had it come from? And why had she thrown it at all? Judging by her expression, she wasn’t mad. Then what—?

“So.” Rachel held her other pillow up as if it explained something. She grinned even more. “Fight me.”

THAT immediately made Vortex take both a mental step back and physically flinch away. “ _Fight_ you—?” he began, processor suddenly burning from both shock and fear of just what could happen if he ever did, when he was rudely interrupted by yet another pillow that hit him in the neck cables. “Primus!”

Rachel was already reaching for another pillow, which Vortex only then realized lay in large quantities on the shelves of the storage unit. “I’m bored. This place sold bedding and there’s a crap ton of pillows right here,” she said, sounding— _insanely_ —amused. She made a little motioning with her hands, pillow flopping around, and laughed. “Let’s go. You, me, right here.”

“I can’t fight you!” Vortex exclaimed, still in shock over her suggestion. Even if they did what she was suggesting ( _which made no fragging sense, humans were beyond retarded_ ), his strength could turn even a paper cup into a deadly weapon.

“With pillows you can!” Rachel shot back, undeterred. She threw the pillow and it hit his leg at an angle that sent it careening into the other wall. She had a hard throw, even if she aim sucked. “Do it, you bitch!”

Vortex had half the mind to take up room with Bluestreak at that point. “You are so—!” That time, one of the infernal things hit him directly dead center in the visor.

Alright, that did it.

Reaching for the one that had fallen off his leg, Vortex didn’t give her much time to react when he reared back and threw the squishy thing back at her. In hindsight, perhaps he should have thrown it a _tad_ more gently, but his suddenly enflamed competitive spirit demanded justice.

“JESUS!” She dodged the throw barely and it smacked into the front wall with a loud slap. “Whoa, that would have hit me in the—!” Rachel expertly ducked the second time as well, this pillow narrowly missing her cheek. She spun around with her own soft weapon in the air. “You little shit!”

And thus began one of the most undignified and stupid moments of his entire _life_. He had endured travel games with Bluestreak, competitions with Wildrider and even inane “heart-to-hearts” with _Danny_ , and yet this… this seriously made him reconsider the limited amount of respect the humans had managed to garner from him, which wasn’t much to begin with.

To be honest, Vortex was certain he shouldn’t have been doing it anyway out of a sense of safety. Even with his arms operating with the absolute minimum hydraulic tension, the pillows were hitting both Rachel and the surrounding area with enough force that surely Rachel’s skin would be stinging from impact. She didn’t complain in the least, however, and even started to laugh as she tried to turn Vortex’s thrown pillows right back at him.

Rachel. _Laughing_. Vortex slowed his throws even more as the “battle” continued. He tried to think of the times she had ever really laughed that openly. Or when he was the one to make her laugh. There were many instances he could think of for either, honestly. Her open glee was oddly affective; he wasn’t laughing, though. He was simply…

Enjoying.

It went on for a least fifteen minutes. Vortex felt odd hurling pillows, to say the least, but it felt strangely cathartic just making his companion laugh as she threw them right back. He didn’t try to dodge, since the room was small enough, and did his best to keep most of the pillows he was throwing from striking the human. Rachel seemed happy enough to be able to get him involved, plus play a game (if he could even call it that) with one of the mechs, probably.

Or, he thought in probably useless hope, she was happy to play with him. Maybe. He could… dream.

Maybe mechs did dream after all, he thought as things wound down. He would probably mentally berate himself later for the inane sentimentality, but right now? He didn’t care.

Wheezing, the blond human finally had enough, heaving one last pillow that barely struck his knee before collapsing on top of a pile that had built up around her. She was still giggling as she caught her breath, leaving Vortex shaking his helm in silence. He was immensely glad it had only been the two of them there, for a variety of reasons now.

“…This was dumb,” Rachel admitted into her pillow, laughing again.

Vortex shot her a dirty look. “Your idea.”

The human apparently had no guilt over the situation as she stretched and flopped onto her back. Vortex did his best to avoid staring and now felt the itching sense of awkwardness creep up again around him.

“These are really comfortable,” Rachel said, dropping her arms onto the pillows next to her as if proving a point. “Better than the ground.”

Oh, Primus, now they were going to have a conversation? Vortex wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that. “Hmm.”

“Do you guys feel comfort?” Rachel asked suddenly. She turned over and cut off his confused question with a wave of her hand. “I mean, do you mind where you end up sitting? Does the ground hurt to lay on?”

…Vortex took a moment to digest that question. He had a vague idea of what human bodies experienced when interacting with the world. They were squishy and thus easily damaged. Hard surfaces could hurt even mechs, but not the same sense, he understood. Trying to comprehend how humans felt was even odder than the humans trying to understand mech sensations. Barns once equated a mech sitting to a box interacting with the ground, which had sort of helped the humans understand things a little better, apparently. Vortex wasn’t really one to get involved too much in the “scientific” questions that really weren’t all that scientific.

“Not… really,” he offered lamely. He shrugged. “Only if the environment presses in a sensitive place under plating, or presses against the curve of our armor.” He paused. “The ground hurts you?”

He asked _not_ out of concern, only curiosity. Curiosity, damn it.

Rachel shrugged too, undeterred by the question. “Only if you lay on it a lot or in the same place,” she said, with an odd sort of finality about it. “You get used to it.”

The humans had always slept on the ground, when they weren’t taking up offers from one of the mechs to sleep inside them. It was their choice, Vortex rationalized, so feeling bad about their inconvenience was unnecessary. He didn’t pity the best of people, let alone the foolish.

He couldn’t quite squash that tiny, irrational sense of unease when he saw Rachel comfortably curl up on her impromptu bed, obviously at ease. For now.

“…Would a leg be better?” he suddenly said, irritated at himself for two reasons, the first being that he offered at all, and the second being because it was the only thing he could offer in such a tight space.

Thankfully, Rachel only laughed again. “I ain’t sleeping on your leg,” she said, curling up away from him now. “I have pillows.”

 _Now_ she did, at any rate. Vortex felt a little uneasy about the idea that by tomorrow night, she’d be back sleeping on cold earth. Even now, she had pillows, but mostly cold concrete.

Another traitorous idea slipped into his processors, and before he could think twice of the consequences (both good and bad), he grabbed a handful of the pillows behind her. She yelped at the brief contact and the loss of her bedding, but when she looked up, she stopped. Vortex had dumped the pillows on his leg closest to her, thankful he could keep it relatively straight in the small room.

Rachel _stared_ at him, probably unaware of how good his vision was, so that he could see the crinkle of something other than irritation on her face.

“…Dork,” she said at length, with no real malice behind her words. In fact, the amusement from before seemed a breath away.

Without prompt, Rachel stood up and walked over to him. Vortex froze, feeling disjointed from his own frame as she hauled herself up onto his leg with eased practice.

“You don’t have to,” he managed to say, now a bit alarmed at the contact. They had never slept so close. Primus, if Jazz heard of this, he was dead, deader than dead—

“Shut up,” the human said, effectively silencing him out loud and mentally. She grabbed hold of her pillows and curled up with them. Oddly, she didn’t keep one beneath her head, like they were intended. She hugged them instead, seeking the sort of comfort a creature like him could never offer. “Good night.”

Vortex watched her for a moment before lowering the light output of his visor to give her the chance to actually rest. He wasn’t going to get much himself, but he wasn’t upset over that.

There was plenty of time to wonder how useless his own feelings were. For now, he could pretend this was all right. He could pretend the smiling human was all right with him, too.

He knew she smiled because he could feel the subtle movement of her mouth against his hyper-tense armor.

Behind his own mask, he couldn’t stop from smiling in mirrored comfort.

It was a good night.

\---

**_"Thank the Rain"_ end.**

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns:  
> -Vortex hates wildlife, especially the small cute ones.  
> -Obviously, this happens before "Formal" in Fallout, but the timeline is quite irrelevant.  
> -I have completely destroyed Vortex's integrity as well as my own. Sorry about that.


	3. Deserving (Apocalypse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For femme4jack, who needed a little pick-me-up. :) Shameless Jazz and TC fluff, based right after chapter 23 of _Apocalypse_ , after Rachel’s meltdown and Jazz’s encounter with Prowl.
> 
>  **TITLE** : Deserving  
>  **ERA** : Fallout: Apocalypse  
>  **RATING** : K/G  
>  **CHARACTERS** : Jazz, Thundercracker (background ensemble)  
>  **CHAPTER WARNINGS** : slash pairing as between two asexual robots who are seen as male, angst
> 
>  **Overall Warnings** : canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
>  **Disclaimer** : Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.
> 
> * * *

 

Jazz found himself curled up on the cold cement floor alone. He didn’t want to be near anyone. Rachel was still crying, all his fault. Most of their crew were doing their best to keep her company. He was glad. He couldn’t do it. She didn’t want him near her anyway, and he couldn’t blame her.

He wanted to disappear. He didn’t want to stay in the base, no matter if they were making strides forward or not. Everything that was slowly driving him mad was on base.

Prowl.

Prowl was there. He wasn’t to blame for this. How could Jazz blame him? Jazz knew even Thundercracker couldn’t, and wouldn’t. Both the Seeker and the tactician were reacting to their bizarre love triangle a million times better than Jazz was. So far, he would have said they had gotten over all of their problems. It had been going so well. And then Jazz ruined it.

A simple glance. A simple realization. That’s all it was to send Jazz spiraling out of control, his spark reacting to thoughts and emotions that should have been buried with the real Prowl he had loved unconditionally years and years in the future, in another world.

This wasn’t _his_ Prowl. His Prowl was _dead_. He loved _Thundercracker_. He had moved on. He had a _family_.

This shouldn’t have been happening, and it was enough to make Jazz want nothing more than to claw his own spark out, if only to stop it from tearing itself in two all on its own.

Lying there alone let his mind wander and drag him back into the darker thoughts he had had when he had left the command center, fleeing like the coward he was from Prowl. It was almost lonely, since the sounds of his friends seemed so far away down the rows of storage containers. His loneliness wouldn’t last.

Gentle, practiced hands danced on his frame, aiming to coax the tense limbs to relax and get his shivering chassis to stop trembling. Jazz choked back a whine and stopped himself from curling away. He had no reason to turn away. It was… foolish.

Thundercracker didn’t say anything at first. He curled up partially over top Jazz, offering protection and silence. Jazz took both selfishly. He wanted to touch the jet back, or at least take up the hands running up and down his frame soothingly, but he didn’t want to touch Thundercracker. It didn’t feel right. Jazz didn’t feel like he was worthy of it.

“I take it something’s wrong?” the jet asked softly. Not prying. Just concerned. And patient. He would have waited as long as Jazz needed. That was just the sort of mech he was.

Jazz didn’t reply. He stared at the cement, unable to turn his head back to face Thundercracker. For a moment, he thought the words would never emerge. His spark held them back fiercely.

“I hate myself,” he whispered, startling himself.

Thundercracker stilled slightly. “Why?” he asked, picking up pace again, hooking the tips of his fingers against the seams in Jazz’s sides slowly.

Jazz shook his helm. “I can’t say it.” He was a damn coward. “I just _can’t_.”

“Don’t,” Thundercracker said immediately, ignoring Jazz’s surprise. He pressed his face against Jazz’s shoulder. “I trust you.”

That barely made the agony go away. “Why?” Jazz asked with a moan. He covered his faceplates with a clawed hand. “I’m horrible. I was always horrible to you.”

He had always pushed Thundercracker away in the beginning, even when his spark had told him to just learn to love again. He had denied that love far longer than he should have. He was always pushing his emotions away and replacing them with merciless, bladed indifference that came out as bad jokes and teasing. It was a miracle Jazz was even still alive, let alone loved, by the Seeker whom he had tormented with more verbal and emotional abuse than an Autobot should have been capable of.

His comments finally made Thundercracker retreat a bit. The jet stared down at Jazz in confusion. “What? No, you weren’t,” he said. He drew his fingers over the silver chassis, sending soothing rivets of touch through Jazz’s armor. “Stop talking like that. You’re _amazing_ , Jazz.”

“You loved me first,” Jazz replied, voice barely there. He grimaced up at the dark face above him. “I was too fragging stupid—a sparkling—and I didn’t love you _first_.”

A Decepticon had loved him before he loved him back. A Decepticon had found it in his spark the courage to let the past go before the supposedly brave Autobot.

Even now… Thundercracker was just so much stronger.

“But you do now,” Thundercracker pointed out quietly.

A horrible whine caught in Jazz’s vocalizer as he surged forward, driven by a panic that made no sense. “I _love_ you,” he said. He spoke in desperation stemming from irrational terror. “I love you so fragging much. It isn’t _fair_.”

Thundercracker let the smaller mech cling to him and slowly lowered them both back to the ground. Jazz felt the unforgiving cement chaff against his back, but he kept his focus on the Seeker, who’s optics never stopped promising protection and understanding.

It wasn’t fair. It just… wasn’t. Not to Jazz and his sanity, but it was even more unfair to Thundercracker.

“I never understood it,” Thundercracker said suddenly, drawing Jazz’s attention back to him. The jet clasped his hands to Jazz’s sides gently and his green optics bore down onto the smaller mech. “You lost everything because of my side.”

Jazz gaped openly for a moment in shock. “I—”

Thundercracker cut him off with a firm shake of the helm. “Not to the drones. Maybe Ironhide and Mikaela, but not Prime, or Bumblebee, or Ratchet. They died because of Decepticons. Because of my kin,” he said, ignoring Jazz’s attempt to deny it. “You either didn’t care, or you forgave me.”

Still unable to really comprehend what was happening, Jazz’s visor dimmed, again shamed. “I… didn’t,” he said. “Not at first.” It took a long time.

“But you did. You accepted my sigil and let me stay. You stayed with me, not out of cowardice, or desperation,” Thundercracker said, continuing on with a firm, resolved attitude that made Jazz’s processors overheat. “You stayed because you forgave me. You gave me a chance, whether I deserved it or not.”

Jazz cupped his hands around Thundercracker’s face and tried to imagine just how much Thundercracker actually felt for him. It seemed so unbelievable, the amount of affection the jet claimed to have for him. But Jazz believed him. Because Thundercracker… Thundercracker had always been the better mech. Always.

Rumbling lowly, Thundercracker leaned in closer. “I don’t need you to tell me what’s going on in your head right now. I trust you as I trust myself. We don’t need a bond to let me know what you need.” The jet laid his helm against Jazz’s, optics shuttered. “And right now, you need time, and space.”

Jazz clutched at Thundercracker’s frame. His limbs shook in desperation. “Not space. I don’t want to be alone,” he said.

Thundercracker lifted his helm a little, green light shining down on Jazz’s faceplates. “Alright,” he replied, patient and kind. “I will always be here for you.”

Even though his spark ached, Jazz let himself feel the utter relief that accompanied those words. “Thank you.”

It would not be easy. He knew that now, even though it all seemed terribly unfair. He had lost love once. He would fight like hell to keep it this time around—even if it took every bit of his strength to overcome what he had lost before.

Thundercracker was worth it.

_Thank you._

**End _Deserving_.**


	4. April Fool's Day 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the April Fools Day prank chapter I put up during _Apocalypse_. :) Obviously it's not canon at all and is very much fake, but I managed to scare quite a few readers with it. Enjoy the angsty AU-ness!
> 
>  **TITLE** : April Fool's Day  
>  **ERA** : Fallout  
>  **RATING** : K/G  
>  **CHARACTERS** : Kass, Kass's family  
>  **CHAPTER WARNINGS** : incredibly grim/depressing set-up, cheap cop-out for an ending, character death
> 
>  
> 
>  **Overall Warnings** : canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Transformers_ © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

 

The sun beat down on her and blinded her eyes, which had tried valiantly to open. At first, that was all she could do until her senses returned.

She heard the sounds of people talking, moving around, dishes clattering. She could smell far off fires and meals cooking. Gripping her fingers, she felt the coarse fabric of her bed.

"Kass?" someone called.

Kass blinked and turned her head slowly. Everything felt muffled and slowed. "Mum."

Lisa Hall smiled down at her daughter gently, her eyes dark. "Can you hear me, love?" she asked, soothing.

"Yes." Swallowing, Kass felt incredibly thirsty. She was confused. How did she get here? "Mum?"

The steady and comforting hand stroking her head grounded her. "You're alright. You scared us, but you're okay," her mother said. "Gonna have a scar on your cheek though. Your father says it'll make you look tough."

That explained the heaviness on the side of her face. A bandage. How it got there was more confusing. Kass couldn't remember anything except running errands for her parents and then… she thought she had seen Kevin, but she couldn't remember.

"What happened?" she asked. Had she fallen somewhere? She tentatively touched her face. It stung a little. Burns?

"There was a fire," her mother explained, the tightness and darkness in her eyes increasing. Her voice was clipped, like it usually was when she was upset. "The explosives in the back caves went off. You were close enough it sent you flying right into a wall." She brushed Kass' hair back almost like a bad habit. "You've been out cold for almost two weeks, Kassy."

Kass couldn't do much else but stare in meek comprehension. "Oh…"

She didn't remember going near the area of the caves where construction was going on, but if she barely escaped an explosion, that would explain it. She sat up slowly and was grateful she could move at all. Accidents like those could wipe out as many bystanders as a drone attack could.

Her mother immediately went to fetch her tea—the family cure for any ailment—while Kass gingerly inspected her body. She had bruises, mostly faded from the time she'd spent unconscious, but she could feel all her limbs and could wiggle her toes. She could definitely live with a cut-up face instead of a broken body.

She looked around their little home and noticed something amiss among the rocky walls. Her father must have been at work, but oddly, her brother's cot was up against the other wall. A pile of blankets on top of it made it seem strangely unused.

"Where is Kevin?" she asked, looking up at her mother.

Lisa froze. Kass glanced down at the cup in her mother's grip; it trembled under the pure-white fingers that held on far too tightly. Kass looked back up at her mother's face and saw the twitching muscle in her jaw. Something was being restrained.

Kass stared.

Oh.

Oh…

**0000**

The next few days were Hell. She had never lost so deeply. She had never felt it so deeply. It had been a shotgun blast to the chest. Her mother held her through her tears, but by the time Kass had been strong enough to walk around the camp, it was more an ache embedded deep into her bones. It wouldn't fade. Not for a long time, if ever.

Kevin shouldn't have been playing around by the explosives anyway. It had been a horrible accident, but there was no one to blame.

She had the vague sense that she'd seen him there, just before it happened. In her dreams, she remembered there being aliens involved. Big ones. But this hadn't been because of the drones, even. Just a faulty wire that caused a spark that…

Kass didn't know where this left her. She should have been grateful she was alive. She was. But she had never expected to wake up with that ache following her like a carnivorous shadow that ate up any happiness that should have been there for her to enjoy. Her parents were struggling to remain collected for her sake. Kass still had to listen to her mother cry at night, mourning the loss of her son.

That got to her worse than anything, even if the silence was sometimes just as bad. Kass gave her mother space when those tears decided to make an appearance. She slipped away and tried to find a place to rest herself.

She didn't want to remain in the caves. After two weeks of dreams about aliens, and wide-open forests, and fantastical scientific devices that had brought her away from this world of pain—she didn't want to be inside.

So she went out to the front entrance and sat away from any of the guards. They left her alone, to sit quietly facing the sunset. She tried to distract herself from the hole in her heart by recalling snippets of her fever-induced dreams. She wondered if she remembered them clearly enough to write them down. They'd make a great story, maybe.

Just before night really fell upon them and she had to go back inside to face the suffocating cave and heartbreaking tears, her father found her. Eugene Hall sat down without a word

"I had a lot of dreams," she said without prompt.

Her father picked at the side of his boot, offering a smile of interest. "About?"

"Aliens," Kass replied. She leaned against the rocky wall and thought of the interesting characters that her imagination had gone wild with. "I dreamt about a whole bunch of aliens. They were my friends."

"Friends with drones?" her father laughed. It was the first time in days (most likely weeks) he had done so.

Kass smiled faintly at the ridiculous idea. "No, no, they were the… ah, Autobots?" she said. The word felt odd. She was probably wrong. "We had one in the caves, but then after a drone attack, we found more of them." She shrugged. The details were fuzzy now. "Some Decepticons, too. They were okay, though."

Her father chuckled. "I wish we would run into one of them. The Autobots I mean. Make life a bit more interesting around here," he said. Kass nodded, though she was glad it was all a dream. They didn't need aliens of any sort coming into their lives.

The wind blew gently. Kass's eyes stung anyway and she blinked rapidly to clear them. Her father was always patient. He waited beside her, a pillar of support without having to do a single thing except be there.

After a long moment, Kass swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

"I miss him, daddy," she said, voice breaking.

Her father made a quiet, faint sigh. He grasped her shoulder and squeezed. "I do, too," he said. He took another shuddering breath which betrayed his composure. "You have to be strong for your mum. Can you do that for me?"

She met his gaze and realized they shared the same watery eyes.

"Yes," she promised. She would, even if it tore her up.

It would pass. Things would move on. She would not forget, however. That would be impossible.

Far away from them, the sun was almost gone from sight completely. Kass stared out at the distant fading light as it was choked by the horizon and the smog.

"Come inside," her father said, reaching out to her once he stood.

Staring up at him, Kass nodded. She took his hand.

****

* * *

**End "April Fools Day 2012."**

* * *


	5. Raising Rachel (Fallout)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have already posted this as a separate story, but I want the chapter listings to match the Adaptions version on ff.net. Sorry for double posting!
> 
> Because surviving the apocalypse is easy. Surviving raising one of its denizens had never been on Jazz and Thundercracker's agendas, but hey, somebody has to do it. There were multiple sub-families within Fallout's main eleven cast members, but this is about the most volatile and complex one. Some of the scenes draw on moments from Fallout such as "Creativity" and "View" but it's all pretty straight forward.
> 
> TITLE: Raising Rachel  
> ERA: Fallout  
> RATING: T/PG-13 for foul language and disturbing imagery  
> CHARACTERS: Jazz, Thundercracker, Rachel  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: IF YOU ARE A MALE READER, please be warned, there is detailed (but not terribly graphic) descriptions of the wonderful experience of female puberty in section 3. :D You have been warned. Also, scary apocalyptic things in section five.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

  


**On Trust**

Mechs and femmes weren't machines like the humans believed at first, Jazz always said; they had to learn how to behave through learning examples from their creators or guardians, just like human children had to. In that sense, he had not been entirely daunted when he and Thundercracker had agreed (with the jet only a little reluctantly) to keep the stray human youngling they had found and, potentially, raise it to maturity.

It was akin to befriending a protoform that had been left alone during those first few crucial cycles of cognitive and social development upgrades. Their first meeting, full of cursing and shouting on her part, had been violent, but surely she'd calm down in the following weeks, Jazz reasoned. Humans were trusting creatures, despite initial bouts of suspicion. All of the humans he had ever met had always warmed up to his charm, so he had only worried about Thundercracker behaving badly in the beginning.

But as it turned out, Rachel Cooper was very much _not_ like all of the other humans Jazz had ever known. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a very bad one.

Days following her agreeing to follow the two mechs and actually camp with them, Rachel had not stopped acting like a spooked turbo fox whenever one of them stepped too close, or when Jazz got too nosy with his questions about her origins. The cursing never ceased, especially when she got angry, which was often. At first, Jazz had been at a loss; why? Why did she get so angry with him? It was mostly at _him_ , too, considering Thundercracker kept his distance and Rachel seemed to like that better. Jazz was worried for the little organic's well being, so he had to get close. That wasn't good for Rachel's trust issues, however.

"D'ya got enough food fer tonight?" Jazz asked, not backing off after he built her a small fire. Thundercracker was glowering yards away, not pleased with having to have the fire there at all. It was a small sacrifice of safety in Jazz's mind since he knew how sensitive organics were to the cold.

Rachel's shoulders never relaxed from an upward pull when Jazz spoke to her then, her shining white eyes never moving from his frame when he moved even a little. "I'm fine, I already said," she snapped, her irritation stemming from both exhaustion and that never-ending sense of paranoia she seemed to have. She didn't trust anything, not even Jazz, after all those weeks of traveling. It was hurtful.

He still tried, though, even if it was frustrating. He always recharged as close as he could without seeming overbearing. Some nights, he thought he could use the environment as proof that the girl needed to get close to them.

"It's too cold fer ya to be out by yerself," Jazz said. He moved his arm pressed against the dirt and lifted the other a little in a welcoming, unthreatening gesture. "I give off more heat than th' blanket."

"I'm fine!" Rachel would always shout, bundling down in the fifty degree weather under blankets that always seemed too thin.

Jazz sighed heavily and just shook his helm. "Rachel, I don't wanna upset you," he said, trying to keep her calm. "I'm just worried."

That earned him a quick glance that was entirely angry. Just frustrated. "Why?" she asked, before huffing and rolling over in dismissal of him. "Christ, never mind. I'm fine. Just let me sleep."

He usually did and he always felt torn about the results. He had tried so hard to get her to stay with them because he wanted to make sure she was okay, not to watch her suffer from the elements he could protect her from. She only chose to use his car-mode when it was raining and she was still hesitant about that.

But… over time, Jazz wasn't sure what wore her down more, his persistent offers or just the weather itself. Rachel was used to living in huge numbers of her own species with access to a variety of supplies. She was a survivor foremost, too, so even in her young mind, she must have worked out the logic in trusting Jazz long enough to scoot a little closer at night for both protection and extra warmth. Jazz just kept encouraging it and hoped her distrust would fade even more over time. It seemed like it was getting better. Maybe.

Thundercracker was the least patient with Rachel's outbursts and distrust, but he thankfully never complained to her directly.

_::She needs to learn discipline, or self control at the very least,::_ he snarled, using their language as a barrier as the child walked ahead of them in silence. _::If she was a sparkling, I would have thrashed that attitude out of her already. This is ridiculous.::_

Jazz narrowed his visor and tried to dim the growl of his engines as he fought to keep calm himself. _::She's not a sparkling,::_ he replied sharply. _::She's a ten year old little girl who's lost everything. We have to treat her like what she_ is _, not what we want her to be.::_

That was hard, even for Jazz. He could not ignore the sub-programming that lit up in his processors now whenever he had to deal with Rachel. He was beginning to see her as a sparkling, which was both good and not good. It was good that he was growing fonder of her; it made it easier to put up with her tantrums, and it was almost relieving to have someone else to hold dear besides Thundercracker. However, it also brought up the desire to, well, discipline her when she acted out. She was still in that stage she was being influenced how to respond to situations. He hoped they could weed out her aggression at least a little bit, so that it was easier for all of them to coexist.

She had suffered greatly growing up, however, and Jazz would not disregard that. She needed a kind hand, not a harsh one, and he was doing his best to give her just that.

Weeks turned into months, and by the half year mark, Jazz knew things had improved. Rachel seemed to enjoy conversation with him now and would often ask him for help openly, too. He was delighted when the evening came, a cold one in March, where Rachel went to his side of the fire and walked right up to his side.

"What's up?" he asked, eyeing her blankets expectantly.

Rachel proceeded to throw her blankets to the ground in front of his chassis as an answer. "Cold," she explained as she built up an impromptu nest near the crook of his arm. She paused when she tentatively brushed her fingers against his chest, withdrawing in surprise. "You are warm!"

"Th' metal's just a ploy," he joked quietly. He moved his arms, so that they could cover the child a little more of a protective roof. He didn't expect her to get too close to him. "Cozy on up, I don't bite."

Rachel frowned as she tried to organize her bundle of blankets. "I'm more worried about being crushed, honestly," she muttered.

Jazz smiled, visor glowing a little brighter, making her squint. "I actually don't move in recharge," he said, lowering the lights again. It wasn't like organic sleep; when mechs were offline, their frames didn't move on its own.

"I noticed," Rachel said, shrugging. She had probably observed their sleeping patterns for a while now, just to make sure on her own. "Just don't kick or whatever."

"Pinky swear," Jazz offered, waggling his claws at her. Rachel just rolled her eyes as she curled up under the heaviest blanket. Jazz chuckled before going quiet and making sure his systems weren't rumbling too loudly for the organic. She slept peacefully throughout the night and Jazz couldn't help but feel happy.

From there, it seemed like things rapidly improved with his patient encouragement, Thundercracker's respectful distance, and Rachel's slow growth of trust in others as she learned she could really count on the mechs to be there. Jazz wondered if she was simply against getting close out of the habit of being abandoned or abandoning people so often in her life. She had a home with them for as long as she wanted, he made sure she understood. Rachel didn't say much about it, but Jazz got the impression she intended to stick around. That made him irrationally happy and not even Thundercracker's blunt realism couldn't shake that.

One day in spring, more than a year after she joined them, Jazz had told Rachel (out of courtesy; she always liked to be in on their traveling plans) they would be nearing a big river in Germany where they were. When they got to a ridge over seeing it and the embankment of trees that nearly blocked it from sight, Jazz told her it was nearby.

He wasn't expecting her to suddenly perk up and jump up and down with unusual energy.

"Pick me up!" she exclaimed.

Jazz froze. "What?" he asked, startled. Even Thundercracker stopped further up the path. She never asked to be picked up. She hated it.

"I wanna see," Rachel said, impatient. She gestured beyond them at the waterfront.

"What, th' river?" Jazz felt his shock combat furiously with unabashed glee. He exchanged a glance with Thundercracker, who's stoic front must have been hiding at least a little surprise of his own.

The blond rolled her eyes. "Yeah!" She jumped up and down again, an eleven year old bundle of impatience. "Hurry up."

Absolutely delighted, Jazz crouched and reached out with his hand, letting her come to him. "Okay, okay, Miss Pushy!" he joked. He waited until she was securely seated and even then, he made sure his other hand was close underneath. He lifted her up slowly. "Hold on, one elevator flight comin' up."

He moved as gently as he could. The girl still clung to his fingers and palm tightly, going ridged in nervousness as she left the ground and was brought up into the air. Jazz wasn't nearly as tall as most mechs were, like Thundercracker, but for the human, it must have been very high up.

"Whoa," Rachel said, eyes huge as she gazed around them. She brought her legs up closer, away from the edge.

Jazz smiled, steading his hands even more. "Too high?"

Rachel shook her head, still tense. "No. Just… don't move so much," she said, shakily trying to find a good position to stay in.

"Can do." Jazz looked back in front of them, nodding only with his head. "Can you see the water?"

"Yeah, through the trees," Rachel replied, straining her neck a little without standing up. She seemed impressed. "It's wide."

Jazz chuckled. "Yeah, that's why we're gonna be walkin' down th' creek t' get t' a bridge, if it's still up," he explained. He exchanged a grateful look with Thundercracker, who was being remarkably patient waiting there.

Rachel nodded slowly. "Okay." She fidgeted as she glanced around his hand. "I want to get down."

"I can carry you to the bridge," Jazz offered, though he already knew the answer.

To his credit, Rachel hesitated before jerkily shaking her head. "…No," she said. She stopped again, before adding a belated, "No, thanks."

She didn't ask to be picked up a lot even after that and still put up a fight when she didn't want to be picked up and she had to be… but he racked it up to an improvement, regardless.

It took small steps to get where they needed to be. Rachel grew up all too fast for Jazz's tastes, but while she grew, she also grew fonder of her guardians. She didn't flinch when they came near. She accepted them as support. She even reached out on her own time to joke with Jazz or share a story with Thundercracker after he finally breached their mutual silence.

One day, after a previous night of heavy rain, Jazz had let Rachel walk ahead of him on a dirt path through another dense forest. He was several yards behind her, but when he saw her sneaker slide down what appeared to be an outcropping of dirt that disappeared off into oblivion over a steep hill, panic jolted in his spark. He dashed ahead, afraid she would be hurt.

"Rachel!" he shouted, diving forward. He stopped short when he realized Rachel wasn't slipping off the incline. She had simply fallen to another level of dirt only a few inches lower, and much more solid.

His exclamation startled her and she turned around to give him a wide-eyed look. "Wh-what?" she asked, bewildered.

Jazz stood there for a moment in his own personal shock. The panic of her falling down the hill faded. "Primus…" he started, shuttering his visor once to clear his thoughts. He backed up a little, offering a hand up in apology. "Sorry, I thought th' dirt was gonna give. You okay?"

Rachel frowned and gripped at her sweater. "Yeah, jeez. You scared me," she accused, though she wasn't angry. They kept walking and Jazz felt a little guilty.

"Sorry, Rach," he said, dreading that backlash for getting too close. She didn't always appreciate him 'smothering her.' "Didn't mean to."

"I know how to walk, okay?" Rachel said, surprising him. She sent him a dry look, rolling her eyes. "Don't you trust me? Honestly…"

He didn't know what made him more amused; her dismissal of his concern, or her apparent acceptance that Jazz was allowed to care about her.

Her comment on trust was equally intriguing. Jazz smiled to himself when she couldn't see.

"Yeah," he said quietly, walking with a much more confident step after his adopted child. "I do trust ya."

Because in the end—it was what family did.

**0000**

**On Discipline**

When Thundercracker got mad, he got mad. He wasn't the only one. Each member of their triad had bad tempers. Rachel had the explosive kind of rage; she knew that she was the loudest and most prone to outburst. She had always been that bad, though. She knew it must have been a shock to the genial Jazz and the quiet Thundercracker with how loud the human could get, but they would just have to get used to it.

They must have, after months and months of traveling, plus months of Rachel getting angry and letting them know she was angry. It didn't matter if it was their fault or not. The problem was, they didn't act the way she had expected they would when she got mad. Her mother had always ignored her or lashed back verbally (or physically) when Rachel really got upset. But the aliens… well, weren't very normal when they did react.

Thundercracker typically ignored her when she bitched about the little things. Jazz tried to be nice, oddly enough, when she was in a normal bad mood. If it was the weather or moving that was getting her down, he'd offer to pick her up or travel in car mode. Sometimes it made her feel better, sometimes not. He'd still offer, and eventually stopped after a few tries to give her space, but never told her to shut up.

…Unless it wasn't about the weather. Rachel would sometimes complain about things more serious than rain, which was what actually pissed Jazz off. Sometimes it was about more obvious things. Like the apocalypse. Or the death of her species. Or the fact she was traveling with two giant aliens while rarely encountering members of her own species—which was literally going extinct. She wasn't going to cry and bemoan those losses like someone who had given up the will to live, but sometimes… even she had to sit back and curse her species' circumstances. It just felt so unfair sometimes. Jazz never belittled or tried to make less of her grief or frustrations. He was always the most humble about the actions of his people, which almost appeased Rachel. She knew he felt guilty, and it wasn't like she was trying to _make_ him feel guilty.

Sometimes though… bitching was really the only thing that helped.

Jazz was kind sometimes when it came to her bouts of pessimism. He'd try to bring her away from those thoughts with games or jokes. But she knew what he was doing after awhile, which only made her angrier. Her anger bothered him, because if anything Jazz was an optimist, which equated him to a fool in Rachel's eyes, but to him, she was being just as foolish.

The first time Jazz turned and told her, " _Shut up_ ," was the day Rachel literally stopped and felt… not threatened, but definitely uneasy. And angrier. Which resulted in their first shouting match ever, which had been so shocking and abnormal, Rachel felt like she had gone mad. Jazz was just as tricky fighting as he was joking, but his wit never managed to surpass Rachel's pure emotion. They met at a standstill, where Rachel had to hide angry tears and Jazz's engines were actually revving loud enough to echo faintly through the forest they were walking through.

And Thundercracker had said nothing the whole time. Rachel had almost forgotten the jet was there, in her blind haze of anger, when she had considered simply breaking away and leaving Jazz in the forest alone. She only realized the jet was still there when Jazz finally stomped over and sat down behind a large boulder in the hill they were slowly moving down. The amount of rocks would give them cover for the night, so obviously this was supposed to be camp. When Rachel glanced up, she saw Thundercracker walking slowly behind, expression neutral.

Rachel had no idea what to expect then, especially from him. He was always so quiet and was obviously fonder of Jazz than of her. She braced herself as he walked past, his footsteps always leaving quiet tremors in the dirt, but he didn't lash out at all. He didn't ignore her either, meeting her glare as readily as ever, before looking up to find a place to sit down.

It was going to be a rough night. Rachel didn't bother making a fire, because then she'd have to ask for help from Jazz, who was pointedly ignoring her. But then, out of no where, the fighting resurfaced (probably because Rachel had made a sarcastic comment about how she would have _loved_ to be in a real house if they even still existed) and Rachel was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry, but she'd be damned before she ever cried because some stupid alien robot had pissed her off—

Rumbling suddenly, Thundercracker abruptly sat up, reaching with his hands to lift himself up more. Rachel stifled a gasp and moved back instinctively, because if the jet had reached the end of his patience, she was the most likely target—

But Thundercracker didn't speak to her. Instead, he shot off a rather vicious sounding comment to Jazz in their own alien language, which always sounded like gears crushing on metal. Jazz flinched and seemed taken back by whatever the jet said, before snarling back his own comment. The argument only lasted a few seconds and Jazz turned away from both of them, irritable, but silent. Rachel sat as quietly as she could, hoping to avoid attracting attention back to her.

Neither mech looked back at her after that, but Thundercracker pointedly moved his legs between her and Jazz, as a physical barrier. The next day, he was the one who woke her up and got her fresh water. Normally, he avoided "human caring" duties that Jazz had always embraced. The silver mech was keeping his distance from her, but seemed in better spirits. Rachel was also feeling better, but mostly because her irritation was being turned into confusion as she dealt with the still-stoic but far nicer jet.

He was the "good cop" when Jazz was mad, she realized, recalling the phrase she had heard in books before. No matter what his attitude was normally, Thundercracker was smart. He knew a split group was a hazard. He also probably hated the noise. And instead of getting angry with them for being angry, he tried to diffuse the situation.

But something else about the situation startled Rachel. Thundercracker, for all of his supposed reluctance to be near the human in his midst, tried to make her feel safer when there was an argument. Even if it was her fault. Even if Jazz was _really_ upset. He'd quietly focus on keeping them from arguing again, but also focus on making sure Rachel wasn't falling apart at the seams. He'd sometimes do something nice to Jazz too, as if reassuring him of something, but he would always make sure Rachel knew that he, well, was on her side, too.

It was… an odd comfort. It often brought the arguments to an end far quicker than apologies did, because Rachel was so confused and quietly moved by the kindness, she sometimes completely forgot what she was mad about and she and Jazz got along after that.

_Then_ there were the times when _Thundercracker_ was the one who got mad. Those were the days that, well, Rachel sometimes questioned how the hell she was even alive by the end of it all. They were rarer than pissing off Jazz, even though making Jazz angry enough to snap at her was rare in and of itself. Thundercracker was always surly, quite like Rachel, but when he actually got _angry_ …

Mostly it was Jazz's fault. Rachel sometimes didn't always understand what happened, because they'd be bickering in their own language. They'd be quietly speaking one moment, and then suddenly, Thundercracker would snarl loudly and lash out, striking a tree maybe with his fist. One time he split two in a row with one swing and was in a horrid mood for the rest of the week.

He never hit Jazz outside of minor playful swats, but Rachel was glad the jet had the sense not to hit the smaller mech with his fists when he was that angry. He'd probably kill Jazz, who stupidly seemed to egg Thundercracker on more, or when Thundercracker did seem ready to close the distance between them and strangle the silver mech, Jazz simply sped up to put distance between them in silence. Rachel was left staring in shock, wondering where the hell that would leave her if they ever split up.

…somehow becoming embroiled in an alien custody battle did not pique her interests.

And then there were the times Rachel was the problem. As it turned out, Thundercracker was more the "bad cop" than Jazz ever was, which was annoying. It wasn't like he got _really_ mad during those days. It was primarily when Rachel didn't want to do something and Thundercracker would effortlessly squash the minor rebellion.

"I don't want to be carried," Rachel said, as she stared in disgust at the river they were trying to cross. Thundercracker was waiting impatiently with his hand outstretched for her to jump on like a freaking gerbil. "I can swim just fine."

"The river is polluted," Thundercracker replied, not impressed. He motioned with his hand again.

Rachel glared back. "I said, I'm _not_ being carried—."

Leaning closer slowly, Thundercracker gave the human a dark look. "Get. Over. Here."

…And so she got on the hand.

He was a practical alien, all in all. He got irritated when she refused to do things his way when they would make things easier (mostly for him), her dignity irrelevant. Rachel reluctantly agreed as she got older that it was well-intentioned, but that never made her more willing to compromise.

There were a few times Rachel could think of where she actually pissed the ex-Decepticon off enough that his fist-swinging rage actually came out. It was a rare event, because even the stubborn blond had even sense to _Back the Fuck Off_ before Thundercracker's rage went supernova.

Like the time she had ignored his warning and went up the two stories into an abandoned library to look for books. It wasn't like she was holding their trio up (the mechs were refueling across the street at a petrol station) and she didn't want to just stand around idly. She wanted to grab more books to read. Thundercracker had shot down her suggestion earlier to do that, agreeing with Jazz that the building was unstable, and told her to stay on the sidewalk. It was perfectly stable and Rachel proved it by making it in and out without dying or even getting injured.

Of course, the moment she got outside and found herself between both aliens, Rachel realized just how little Thundercracker cared about the fact his warning had been needless. He was more pissed off that she had ignored him entirely. And Thundercracker, as it turned out, _did not like being ignored_.

"—stupid, ignorant, _foolish_ brat," he ranted, ignoring her startled expression, and Jazz's half-hearted attempts to calm him down. Thundercracker refused to let them move on, shouting on angrily about how stupid Rachel had been. If she wasn't so scared, she probably would have been insulted. "If I tell you to do something, you do it, _I don't care_!"

"But—," Rachel tried. She was stunned she actually felt a little cowed by his reaction. Since when did the reactions of adults get under her skin?

"BE _SILENT_ ," the jet snarled. Thundercracker, apparently, was just as good as Jazz and Rachel were at letting the world know when he was pissed. Rachel fell quiet obediently in a sense of sheer self-preservation. "What the frag did you think would happen if the building collapsed? That we'd dig you out? Primus, Skywarp wasn't even that dense! I told you _one_ thing, and you go and—!"

He kept going strong, eventually marching onwards when darkness became a threat. Rachel was forced to keep pace, wincing as the tirade failed to cease, hating it every time the huge alien's glare fell on her and he openly reminded her that he was mad at her still.

If she were one of their own, Rachel realized, he probably would have shaken her senseless, or at least had smacked her like he would with Jazz. He was angry enough that Jazz said nothing other than a few murmurs of comfort to Rachel, "to just let him rant," and tried to calm his mate down later, being the voice of reason this time.

Later, Jazz airily suggested she apologize for slipping away and making them worry. Rachel huffed at the idea of apologizing to an alien for doing something that hadn't done any harm. Thundercracker continued to be in a foul mood for the rest of the week, however, and each progressing day made Rachel feel like she wanted to crawl deep inside herself away from the unfaltering glare from the tallest mech.

It wasn't because she cared about his feelings, or—or something like that. She refused to think she had actually given into Jazz's silly jokes about them adopting her. They weren't her parents. They weren't… important.

But they were still there. She was still with them for the long run (even she had to admit that to herself). And… the fact that he got so mad must have meant Thundercracker cared, the logical part of her mind told her, even if it seemed like the opposite. Her mother had gotten upset with her for disappearing a few times, so maybe it was the same thing.

That didn't make it any easier to walk up with heavy feet and a heavy heart to the giant mech before they set out on their morning journey. Thundercracker stared back at her with the same harsh look, even though it was somewhat faded now. Rachel braced herself—and her pride.

"Sorry," she said, forcing herself not to mumble.

Thundercracker didn't even flinch. "For?" he asked, dragging it out.

Rachel grit her teeth. "Ignoring you." She knew that was the real problem. It had to have been, since she had always irritated him before, but his reaction this time obviously meant it was more serious.

"No," Thundercracker said suddenly, making her stare up in surprise. He gave her a severe look and spoke firmly, like a real father might have. "You made us worry needlessly. That is the real problem here. Understand that."

"Okay," she said, still fighting that burning sensation of guilt. She fidgeted and was glad this was over.

The jet stood back a little, clearly appeased. He nodded. "Good." Hesitating a moment, Thundercracker met her stare with another firm expression that demanded her full attention. "If you want books, there are other places to go. I don't just say things for no reason, and neither does Jazz."

Rachel wondered, briefly, if he even understood what he sounded like just then. She remembered only glimpses of her real father and only really could recall the harsher moments with her mother. But she knew what a father was supposed to sound like; it was almost sad how much she felt at ease when it was that giant alien who mimicked it.

"…Okay." Rachel nodded and stiffly looked back up at him. "I'm sorry, TC." She meant it, even though she wasn't entirely sure why yet.

If she had learned anything in her time with the two aliens, it was how to read them. Thundercracker was always stoic, but Rachel could still see faint lines of what could have been relief—or pride.

"Good," he rumbled. He turned slightly, motioning with his hand for her to go in front of him to catch up to Jazz. "Now, let's go. And don't rush, the path is muddy."

Rachel hid a smile that traitorously slipped onto her face as she moved ahead of him. Scary aliens, indeed.

**0000**

**On Puberty**

Jazz had endured many horrors in his long life. He had grown up on the streets of Kaon, narrowly avoiding ending up in the same gladiatorial pits that raised many a 'Con. He had survived a civil war that had destroyed their world and sent his entire species into an intergalactic diaspora. He had survived up until now the devastation of the drones and the Fallen. One time he had even gotten trapped on Shockwave's ship; five joors there had been worse any horror film the humans could ever come up with.

But nothing—not a lifetime of the streets, of being an officer in an army, nor facing down the worst his enemies had ever thrown at him—could compare to the horrors of raising a female human teenager.

There were the tantrums and the general moodiness that accompanied most human children. Rachel was a grouchy child by default and Jazz could live with that. They had in (relative) peace for almost a year and a half. He hadn't expected any more tricks or twists in the challenge of raising a human child.

Until Rachel turned eleven. Specifically, two months and fourteen days after turning eleven. It was then Jazz became acquainted and innately connected with what the humans called, "his own personal hell."

It had started when Rachel had greeted him one morning with a severe expression and a "need to get to a town" to get supplies. She refused to state exactly what she needed, but it just so happened they were close to a small village. She disappeared into one of its drugstores and reappeared with a stuffed backpack. Jazz had teased her for "robbing the store blind," but she didn't return the jibe. If anything, she was rather withdrawn for the rest of the day, which made Jazz immediately even more interested in what she had picked up. If anything, he was concerned something was really wrong.

Timing it right, he waited until Rachel went off to take care of her teeth and other nighttime hygiene concerns, and he then went to poke around her bags. Everything seemed in order, except for a medium sized package that stood out boldly from the rest of her clothing.

Whatever it was, it wasn't food or clothing. It was bundled up in a thin plastic. It was obviously pre-war packaging, with the bright green coloration of the plastic, and it was a non-perishable item, apparently. Jazz had no idea why Rachel would travel with a package like that when it seemed useless to her, since the little square took up so much room. He would offer to take it later (subtly, of course, so she didn't know he had snooped around), just so the stubborn little girl wouldn't be overburdened. She had the terrible habit of demanding to carry most of her own gear, which must have worn down her—

In the process of tipping the backpack to its proper location near her bedding, Jazz stopped when he noticed the big white and pink lettering on the package, the colors odd in their environment (and within Rachel's possession). It was also in English, which was odd, considering they were in French territory. The label simply said, _Always - Maxi_.

It took a moment to research the brand and Jazz was honestly surprised. Feminine hygiene products? These were used by adult human femmes during their reproductive cycles, to shield against waste, weren't they? What the frag would Rachel be doing with—?

And then he realized.

Jazz _stared_.

_::Oh. My. Primus.::_

Thundercracker, his turn to recharge for most of evening, glanced his way. _::What's wrong?::_ he asked, still over the comm., following Jazz's lead.

_::TC, we have a problem,::_ Jazz said, feeling faint.

_::What?::_ the jet demanded again, sitting upright with mild alarm in his expression.

Jazz did his best not to panic and sent his mate a strained look. _::We maaaay be havin' some big problems in th' next few days,::_ he said. Or years. _::Like, human problems.::_

After sharing the most important key files on the human reproductive system with the jet, Jazz almost spared a moment to be amused at Thundercracker's immediate disgust and momentary panic. They had _no fragging idea_ what they were doing, the Seeker hissed; they shouldn't meddle with things concerning biology, of all things, when it was already dangerous they were messing with Rachel's social learning.

But there wasn't another choice. Not really. Unless they were to ignore it—and then get slammed by something down the road they had purposely ignored—or try to find another human camp to get Rachel help at. Jazz didn't know if they had enough time to get her to one though; it wasn't like they had MapQuest of human refugee camps.

In the end, Jazz knew he couldn't ignore it. Reproductive cycles were immensely important for humans—and it was also a scary experience, from what his records told him. Rachel might have been too scared or nervous to ask for help. Thundercracker was far more resistant to taking up the mantle of parenting (well, outside of discipline, or protecting their little group, at least), so that left Jazz with the responsibility to approach Rachel.

It took him a day to get the courage to go ahead. He waited until Rachel had finished her meal and seemed ready to call it a night. He approached calmly; his processors were swirling with anxiety. He knew what he had to do, but it wouldn't be pleasant. Rachel looked up at him when he stopped close by and seemed confused by his presence.

"Rachel…" he began, sitting down quietly. He smiled at her against the flutter of his nerves. "Can I talk t' ya fer a sec? Fer serious."

Reluctantly standing, Rachel walked over to him when he motioned at her. "What?" she demanded, suspicion on her face.

"I need ya t' listen, come're." He frowned when she refused to come up closer. "Don't gimme that look, come're."

Finally, the little femme made it over to his knee and he helped her up to sit on it. She scowled at him openly, but there were flickers of concern there as well. She knew something was up. Jazz braced himself.

"A'ight. I don't wanna crowd ya or anythin', an' I don't mean no disrespect," he said. "Ya can tell me t' shove off later, but I wanna speak fer a minute first, okay?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed slowly. "What's wrong?" she asked, now a little worried. Jazz knew he was being too severe then.

"Nothin's wrong!" he said chidingly. He shifted and then offered, "I'm not human."

"Duh," she interrupted.

Jazz sent her a strained look. " _Lemme_ talk." She frowned, but remained silent. Jazz continued, "I meant t' say, I may not be human, but I do know my stuff. I had experience with a few before you, an' even now, I have lots o' files on yer species. I'm not… _new_ at this. But at th' same time, I want ya t' understand there are a lot of things different about us, an' I respect that. I don't mean t' be tryin' t' stick my servos where they don't belong."

The long disclaimer probably disturbed her greatly. "…Okay…?" Rachel said, uncertain.

"I, ah, noticed… you… ah…" Jazz sank his claws into the dirt to keep from fidgeting. "I suppose you've noticed over the last few days now that, well, you've been seein' some changes… with yerself. Yer body."

From the few human films he had that covered moments like this, he thought that was a good lead. There was a long pause, however. Rachel sat still on his knee, but now, her eyes were a little wider than before as she realized what he was saying.

Jazz smiled, trying to keep things cool. "It's okay. I don't wanna make you upset, or scared, or—," he began.

"You mean my period?" Rachel interrupted, without any sign of alarm or disgust.

Pausing, the silver mech considered where this was going. He had not expected her to be so calm. "…Yes?" he said, fumbling for ground to stand on now.

Rachel made a face that he couldn't quite decipher. "Jesus, _that's_ all?" she exclaimed. She frowned deeply. "Yeah, so what? I've got supplies, so it's no big deal."

There was a lull in noise around the camp. Thundercracker was pointedly ignoring them on the other side of the campfire, and Jazz could really only find it in himself to stare at the human perched on his leg. Rachel stared back with open distrust.

"What?" she asked, more defensive.

Jazz wondered just where his train of thought had been heading before, because now it was successfully derailed. "You… know about… all that?" he asked, knowing he sounded out of his element, because he certainly was.

"All _what_?" Rachel asked, bewildered.

"Puberty!" Jazz said, motioning with his hands. "It's a big change fer ya as a lady, so it's important that you—"

" _Jazz_. Oh, my God, what are you, a forty year old man?" Rachel suddenly exclaimed. She had that _Please Stop_ expression she wore when he had made a big fuss about her climbing up steep hillsides without his help. "Stop it. It's normal. Fine. Whatever. I already got the Talk like a bajillion times from my mom and all the old people who said I should have started before."

"Yer actually kind of early by the info I got—wait," Jazz started to say. He froze. "So you already know? About… uh… everything?"

"Yeah?" Rachel asked, completely calm.

How…? He wondered if he was allowed to ask. "…Okay… so…" he trailed off, now severely off track. "That's good?" He hoped so.

"You're so weird," Rachel said, rolling her eyes.

Jazz floundered for a moment longer, still unsure how to proceed now. "You know about sex?" he asked. He knew that humans valued privacy foremost when it came to their sexual relationships, but he hadn't been sure how much children knew of it. It was a very adult thing for their culture, after all.

Thankfully, Rachel just made another face. "Uh, yeah?" she said, unimpressed. "Not like we got curtains in camps, you know."

Sweet Primus. Jazz did his best not to get mad, because he knew she was being honest. The lack of courtesy towards the children in that environment was still irritating to contemplate.

"Okay, well, don't feel pressured by it. I dunno if yer ever wanna go meet up with another dude—or a girl, I don't judge!—but now that yer a lady, ya should know about safe ways t' have intercourse," he said. "I know I don't know much about it outside of books an' stuff, but if ya have questions…"

He stopped awkwardly when he noticed the expression Rachel was sending his way. Her eyes were pinched closer together and she stared at him in open disbelief.

"…Jazz," she said, clearly struggling over something.

"What?" he asked, confused.

Rachel _stared_ at him more. "I'm _eleven_ ," she said, practically choking.

Jazz frowned. "And?" Once the humans made it over the puberty line, didn't age cease to matter when it came to intercourse?

Rachel covered her face with her hands. "You have to be kidding me," she spat. She glared up at him and held her hand up to him before he started to speak again. "Just. Stop. _Stop_ talking about this."

"But I'm just tryin' t' help," Jazz replied, flustered. "Humans gotta learn about how they turn into men an' women properly, right?" He thought that was part of the whole raising and nurturing thing. How did he screw this up?

"I'm not a woman!" Rachel practically yelled, now going red in the face. "Jeez, stop making it seem like I'm about to start having babies!"

That made Jazz scowl. "You _better_ not." He was quite content in having _one_ wayward human under his care, not to mention he didn't exactly savor the idea of any creepy ass punk touching his kid.

…Jazz paused and took a mental step back. Maybe he was too serious about this. He had a newfound appreciation for human parental behaviors, though. This was making his protective protocols go haywire.

"TC!" Rachel suddenly yelled, apparently having had enough of Jazz's concern. She turned her head toward the jet. "Jazz is being stupid!"

Sometimes that plea had gotten her backup in the past. Thundercracker, still lounging by the log, sent her a patient expression. "Not my fault," he said, thoroughly disinterested.

Rachel huffed and Jazz waited as the little femme sat up properly to fix him with a severe look that always looked so odd on such a young creature.

"Look," she began, dreadfully serious. "Puberty goes like this: your body starts acting weird and you start acting more, like, uh… hormonal, or whatever the word is. Yeah." She shook her head. "Anyway, guys have it easy and only their voices get deeper. Girls get periods and it sucks. We also get boobs and stuff, which I couldn't care less about, but I already know about it, so stop acting like it's some huge surprise."

Frowning, Jazz wasn't sure how to take her blunt explanations. "…You are _really_ open about this, aren't you?" he asked, mildly disturbed. Were all female children like this?

"You're robots," Rachel replied, shrugging. "I didn't think you'd care."

Jazz _did_ care, considering it would affect her so much, but he couldn't say he was entirely at peace with the whole, well, _grossness_ of it. Organics really did get the short end of the stick, or at least, that's how it seemed with biology. He knew it would simply become part of their routine as it was, so there was no point in making a big scene about it now.

In the end, Rachel shrugged away Jazz's interest and the mech felt a little more comfortable in just letting it go. He wasn't human nor had a clear understanding of their biological sexes, so he knew he shouldn't have tried to ask questions he couldn't fathom to begin with. If she said she was okay, he'd trust her on that. It seemed simple enough, and by the end of the first cycle, Jazz decided it wasn't a big deal after all.

But then…

It got _**worse**_.

Jazz was rudely reintroduced to the problem the second time Rachel went through the menstrual cycle. One day, she was perfectly fine. The next, she was keeled over on her bedding, refusing to move and near-tears in pain. Jazz panicked at first and immediately decided to backtrack to the last camp they found (over two weeks away), but they couldn't travel with her like this. All they could do was sit there and wait it out; it had been torture for both parties, with the mechs having to endure Rachel's pathetic moans.

After the first forty-eight hours, the pain subsided, however, and Rachel recovered just fine. She was absolutely miserable during the first few days of the cycling, but it made sense to Jazz's records on the topic. Even Thundercracker was disturbed by how bad it got. "Cramps" became a code word for "leave the human alone."

"I want to _DIE_ ," Rachel cried into her pillow, not moving a single inch all morning, except to curl up against whatever sort of pain she was feeling. From what Jazz could understand, it was akin to his internal components suddenly compressing past their limits.

"Stop talkin' like that," he chided gently. He kept the fire going strong for more warmth; they didn't travel in the first day. It was just too rough on her. "Yer not gonna die."

"But I want to…" Rachel whimpered. She kept her face pinned to the blankets, speaking in a muffled, desperate voice that made Jazz cringe. "Aughhh, kill me. Please. Step on me. _Shoot_ me."

Jazz sighed. "No." He was able to sit close to her on those awful days and she didn't tell him to back off when he ran a soothing finger down her spine, the best comfort he could offer. "Didja take aspirin?"

Rachel hissed. "That shit doesn't work!" she snapped, her temper even worse during these times.

While they waited for it to pass, Thundercracker was left to sit around awkwardly, unwilling to move closer like Jazz did. He still kept a wary optic on the human and he finally spoke up about his concerns the third time it happened.

"Maybe something _is_ wrong with her," Thundercracker said when Rachel finally got to sleep (or passed out), worry slipping through his calm demeanor. Jazz didn't have the spark to poke fun at him for it though. "Is it normal for there to be this much pain involved?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. This is sort of normal, I think. Mikaela always got sick durin' hers," the saboteur replied. Then again, Mikaela had been a grown woman. This was just a little girl and it was making Jazz feel horrible just stand there and watch helplessly. He looked up at Thundercracker in distress. "I feel so bad. We can't do anythin' fer her."

Eventually, the three of them all got used to the Two Days of Hell and it became less stressful after awhile. Rachel claimed it wasn't always awful some months and they were able to move more when it wasn't too bad. Jazz did his best to let her rest anyway.

While they didn't understand it, Jazz and Thundercracker mutually decided it was "beyond theirs to place judgment on," which was a hard-learned experience for Thundercracker in particular. He'd still make jabs at how inconvenient the whole thing was for them as a group when Rachel was had to stop frequently, or spend a whole day to rest.

That afternoon, Thundercracker had made one short, biting comment about her stopping for the fourth time that day. Normally he was patient with it, but it had been a rough week with drones. Jazz sent him a quiet warning over the comm. to lay off, but then, something happened.

Rachel had looked up at Thundercracker after he had snapped at her. She seemed shocked at first.

Without a single breath of warning, Rachel burst into tears.

Jazz stared on in stunned silence, Thundercracker rendered speechless as well, as Rachel broke down with uncharacteristic tears and incoherent babbling. Rachel… did not cry. She got upset and sometimes shed a few angry tears, but never… like… _this_. Jazz turned and stared at Thundercracker, who turned back to him, and the two mechs floundered in silence punctuated by the crying child.

_::…You're such a dick,::_ Jazz said over the link, unable to not be a little upset as well.

Thundercracker's engines sputtered. _::I didn't_ do _anything!::_ he exclaimed, both insulted and alarmed as the human continued to cry. Thundercracker motioned wildly. _::Primus! Why is she crying? !::_

It was odd, considering how hardy their adopted child generally was, but Jazz had a feeling it was still because of the fragging cycling.

_::Hormones… maybe? I have no idea!::_ Jazz crouched and motioned with his hand to herd the little girl forward and away from the jet. "Rachel, come on, sweetie. Just ignore him. I'll read you some Verne."

It was rough going that first year. Jazz (as well as his other two companions obviously) were relieved when it became clear the experience for Rachel got easier as she got older. In time, he was sure it wouldn't become an ordeal as much as, well, a fact of life on Earth. Jazz became more and more aware of that fact that this was another example of Rachel leaving childhood behind, which always sobered him. He didn't like the idea of his little girl having to face any more grown-up issues than she already did (such as running for her life, or scavenging for food).

Then again, under certain circumstances, Jazz knew Rachel still had a few more years of being a kid. He knew his influence had _helped_ in that regard.

"If ya ever have kids, I want one t' be named after me," he said while walking one day after they had been talking about the topic of her growing up.

"I'm not naming my kid Dick Face," Rachel quipped back without missing a beat.

Thundercracker snorted ahead of them, which made Rachel crack up. Jazz scowled. "Yer _such_ a lady," he said, without any real malice.

Rachel had the nerve to look up at him and wink. "You know it."

They still had a few years left, he decided; he was glad.

**0000**

**On Protection**

Rachel tried to be smart. She read all the books she could and did her best to be on par with the education a child her age would have had back before the world ended up like this. She understood completely, though, that education and common sense were not related. She was grateful to have been given a streak of rational intellect that let her make smart choices for survival, not ones based on emotion.

That became conflicting for her when she had met Jazz and Thundercracker and had decided to stay with them. She never once considered staying with them was anything but a logical choice, a rational one. She needed them to survive. That's all it _should_ have been. That crazy notion that took hold in the back of her mind that somehow she had become attached to her alien companions—saw them as friends, perhaps more—wasn't logical. It was suicidal at times.

And then one day, she realized perhaps rational thought really didn't pay that much weight into her choices after all. Maybe she _was_ just crazy. Or just very, very lucky.

Then again, being bombarded by drones in the middle of a rain-soaked evening out of nowhere was never something Rachel would consider "lucky."

Rachel had enough time to hear Jazz shout out in alarm and then the entire narrow path they had found in the woods had become the grounds of an all-out battle between five drones and their sorry trio. Rachel had nothing except the ability to run and hide until the battle was over. Jazz and Thundercracker were the ones who had to actually fight.

And did they _fight_. Thundercracker was terrifying. He could have been peacefully walking one moment, but the second the drones appeared, he became just as ferocious as they were. He could grab a drone clear out of the air and pull it apart with his bare hands. That wasn't an easy, or safe maneuver, but it saved Jazz's life a few times as the silver mech was stuck shooting with his guns.

Rachel dodged the firing and tried to hide behind the trees. A drone had spotted her and with a loud screech, it swooped down. Rachel scrambled to get away, but the world was suddenly replaced by a wall of metal when Jazz appeared out of nowhere, leaving Thundercracker's side, to protect her. His hands were rough, but Rachel would take being picked up like a cat over being eviscerated like a pig any day.

Jazz deposited her on the ground after Thundercracker took out the drone chasing them and immediately jumped back into the fray. Rachel saw the last drone latch itself like a missile into Jazz's side, but the Autobot was agile enough to pry it loose before its serrated limbs could latch onto him like a leech. He threw it to the ground, right on top of two other dead ones, and blew its head wide open with a close-range cannon shot. Silence echoed it once all of their enemies were dead.

Breathing heavily, Rachel sat on the ground in her pathetic raincoat and tried to collect herself. After a fight, there was no time for a break. They had to move. They had to see to each other and then _move_.

"Rach, where'd ya go?" Jazz called, limping away from the pile of drones, clearly winded in his own breathless way.

Shivering from the rain as well as the rush of fading adrenaline, it took Rachel a moment to find her voice. "I'm here," she said in a hoarse voice as she tentatively peeled herself away from the mud to get back to the path.

Jazz immediately crouched and held his hand out to her. "Ya alright?" he asked. His briskness was always a remnant of the battle rush; he was most likely incredibly concerned, but remained in 'business' mode until the dangers had passed. "I didn't pinch ya or anythin', did I?"

"N-no, I'm good," Rachel replied. The memory of nearly being hurled by a giant alien wasn't going to fade overnight, but hell, she was grateful to be alive all the same. "Not hurt."

"Good," Jazz said. Finally, a smile appeared on his face.

Rachel would have shooed him away after that—she hated him fussing—but something about the mech made her refocus her attention on him. "You're all beat up. You're bleeding," she said, eyes wider as she pointed out the large wound on Jazz's left side.

It was a bunch of long lacerations going up from his mid-torso up nearly over his shoulder. If he hadn't gotten away from the drone in time, they could have taken his arm clean off. Luckily, it was just cut up instead of cut off.

The dripping blue liquid that burned the grass when it fell from the gashes alarmed her anyway. Jazz apparently hadn't noticed the injury and glanced at it almost disinterested.

"Haa, no, I'm not," he said, in his overly-obvious way of trying to not upset her. "Bleeding is fer organics. I don't bleed." He rotated his arm a bit and winced, his visor darkening. "Does kinda sting, though."

"Liar," Rachel shot back, knowing this deflecting routine well enough. She was always using it herself. She peered closer at the blood—energon, whatever—and bit her lip nervously. "Shit, how do you even fix this—?"

All at once, Jazz flinched away from her, alarm lighting up his faceplates dramatically, as if he had just realized something. "TC!" he yelled. He pushed off the ground and walked past the bewildered Rachel, seeing something she hadn't. "Frag, frag—you okay, mech?"

Immediate dread filled Rachel's stomach. She did not want to see what had made Jazz so scared; if anything was that bad that he reacted this way… it normally wasn't good for anyone. Her curiosity won out and she turned around to see where the other giant mech was.

Thundercracker was alive, which was immediately a positive. He was seated now in the middle of the field and was clutching at his chestplates in obvious pain, which wasn't good. Rachel moved closer in silence, trying to map out exactly what the problem was. She saw a lot of the blue energon stuff, which their bodies made from the human fuel, spilling past his black hands.

"I'm fine," the ex-Decepticon said irritably. Pain was easily readable on his face, however, despite his attempts to hide it as Jazz came over to take a look at the injury. "It's… superficial."

"Yer losing engeron by th' bucket load, TC. This ain't superficial," Jazz said, masking his nervousness with unprofessional wording, as usual. He dared to laugh, the gesture shaky, as he pulled Thundercracker's hand back to look closer. "Holy Primus, you've been holdin' out on me, man. Since when did ya ever drink this much fuel?"

Thundercracker growled. "Sh-shut up," he said. He pushed Jazz away and made to get to his knees in order to stand. "Get to cover, now. I can make it."

He barely managed to stand and Rachel warily stepped back as he made his way to the thicker areas of the forests. The first step after checking everyone was alive was to get out of the attack area. Drones sometimes went after the remains of fallen drones, sort of like bees Jazz said, so remaining where the bodies were was never a good idea. Normally, after establishing that a wound wasn't life threatening, they'd wait until they could rest safely to further check up on their medical status.

But this time… Rachel felt wrong walking quietly parallel to her mechanical guardians. Jazz was probably hurting from his side and arm injuries, but Thundercracker was visibly limping and moving even slower than normal. It wasn't even that they could offer an arm to support him either; even Jazz was much too short to be of any assistance, even if he wasn't hurt as well.

They kept walking for a least a mile and then it became clear Thundercracker needed to rest. Rachel kept looking back at him nervously.

"Is TC okay?" she asked quietly, glancing back at the lumbering jet. She didn't care if her concern was showing; this could have been serious.

"Yeah, he'll be okay," Jazz said, distracted as he continued to peer around the area they had stopped at. It would do for a campsite. He suddenly hissed at the sky. "Slag it. Stupid rain."

Rachel stood back obediently as the mechs attempted to figure out what they were going to do. The rain began to pour down heavier and it made it difficult to tell what the time was now. Without the leaves in the trees that surrounded them, the rain hit them without any buffer between sky and ground. She pulled out a plastic container she had stored cold leftovers in and scarfed it down as quickly as possible. A few feet away, the transformers continued to fight nature.

"Ya can't turn over," Jazz said, clearly too aggravated to remember Rachel was right there. He gestured at the inside of the rather obvious hole in Thundercracker's chest. "Gravity'll fuck up the pipes. We're gonna have t' make a patch tomorrow, but there's nothin' we can do t'night."

"Rain's gonna build up," Thundercracker grunted. With all of the acid in the rain normally, it couldn't have been good to let it pool up in the wound. Rachel wondered if it hurt to have the wound exposed to the elements; it probably did.

"Well, let's make ya an umbrella," Jazz said, suddenly childish again. He had brought out a blue tarp Rachel used to sit on in the rain, but the moment Jazz attempted to raise the tarp up and over Thundercracker's chest, he dropped the tarp with a yelp of pain. "Ouch."

"You shouldn't be lifting your arms at all," Thundercracker immediately chided.

"Then stop bein' so fraggin' tall," Jazz muttered, gingering moving his injured arm, testing for pain again.

"Forget it," Thundercracker said impatiently. "I can't hold both sides there all night and you can't either. It'll be fine."

Setting aside her finished meal, Rachel bundled under her raincoat. It might have been fine… but it probably still hurt them. A lot.

Rachel bit her lip again.

Without giving her common sense the chance to catch up, Rachel acted on impulse. She stood up and waved her hand at Jazz to catch his attention. "I can do it," she said. She dreaded it immediately, but remained firm.

"Huh?" Jazz and Thundercracker both stared at her in confusion.

"I can hold the tarp over the hole," the human repeated, irritable to be under so much scrutiny. She pointed up at the blue item in Jazz's hand. "I mean, I could hold it down."

It would be difficult and probably the worst night she would have in a while, drone-attacks not withstanding. The rain wasn't too bad, but it was enough that this was needed. Her eyes wandered to the deep gash on Thundercracker's chest and she shivered. If that had been her…

"Rachel, it's probably gonna keep up like this all night," Jazz replied, looking upwards in example.

Rachel frowned. "I can do it," she said. She crossed her arms at his hesitance. "Jazz, seriously, I'm not injured. You two are. I can handle a stupid tarp."

She… owed them, regardless.

Jazz still seemed uncertain. "…You sure, Rach?" he asked quietly. He tilted his helm, claws unconsciously cradling his wounded side. "I know ya can do it, an'… it'd be a real nice gesture. But it's gonna be wet."

"I can do it," she said firmly. She shivered under the cold dampness, but that wasn't important now.

After a few minutes of preparing for the long night watch as well as finding a safe way to stay up on the Seeker's chest, Rachel wondered if she actually regretted offering to help. She didn't, really. She wasn't entirely sure why she had offered at all, either. It felt right, but… since when had this sort of thing ever worked for a person like Rachel Cooper?

With Thundercracker manually restricting the energon flow to the wound now, so it stopped leaking, Rachel was able to sit almost over top of the wound area without having to worry about being burned. The edge was all jagged and she did her best to think their skin was nothing like her skin. Imagining a human chest having such an open, exposed wound… it was unnerving. This wouldn't kill him, thankfully.

She held down the one end by draping it over her head to help keep the rain off herself as well, and Thundercracker pinned down the other side, which was about as much as he could do. If he had tried to do this himself, alone, he wouldn't have been able to make it tent-like like this to really make the water stay away.

"You're going to get sick," Thundercracker said suddenly after about an hour of silence and rain. She couldn't see his face under the tarp, but he sounded irritated. "Organics get sick in the cold."

"Yeah, and mechs can still die from getting rust on their insides," she shot back, shivering violently. At least it was somewhat dry up there. Sort of. "I can handle a cold. You can't handle your insides getting all messed up."

Thundercracker's entire frame rumbled beneath her like a miniature earthquake, which made her flinch. She was still unused to that. "You are a brat," he snarled, though the gesture wasn't actually made in anger.

"Shut up." Rachel closed her eyes and pretended she could sleep. He didn't say anything else in reply.

She had stayed nights up before. Whenever she was in a bad camp, or one where it felt like they were exposed too openly for attack, she never slept, or at least, not for very long. It was too risky. This wasn't that big a leap for her to stay up willingly just to help an injured teammate.

Except for the whole tending to the injured part. She didn't have _teammates_. She didn't have _friends_. Or at least, up until three years ago, she hadn't. Now it was just one big mess.

Jazz had risked his life for her. He always worked hard to protect her. Thundercracker was good at deflecting affection directed at him or coming from him, but Rachel had finally seen through the cracks in his metaphorical armor. He cared. They both did. She didn't always understand why…

But days like these, she understood that it didn't matter the reason. All that mattered now was that she repay it. Because whether it made any sense at all, they were a team. She owed them this, and more. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud… but Rachel knew where she stood.

Morning, of course, took forever to arrive, but the rain did let up shortly before dawn. Rachel took Jazz's offer to crash later in his vehicle mode, because she was exhausted. Thundercracker's self-repair had apparently fixed a lot of the internal damages (Rachel would never understand their miraculous bodies and she didn't really want to), but Jazz cited the need to make a sort of bandage for the metal skin of theirs to latch onto and rebuild what had been damaged.

Fascinating in a _holy-shit-it's-living-metal_ sort of way, Rachel ignored the technobabble and focused on warming up by a small fire and eating. She was looking forward to sleeping, but a part of her was remarkably un-bitter. She didn't like doing things for others without reason. It wasn't her style.

But she wasn't upset over spending her night doing what she had done. It was very confusing.

Thundercracker was thankfully _not Jazz_ , and had no intention of dragging out her motives once he recovered. He did take the time to speak with her directly and that made her nervous all the same.

"Thank you, Rachel," he said when the two of them were mostly alone. He nodded his head gently. "I appreciate what you did."

The thing was with Thundercracker, he never got dramatic like Jazz did. He never lashed out with explosive emotion like Rachel mostly did. He just said what needed to be said, nothing more, or less. Rachel liked that best about him, even if right now, the truth was stifling.

She didn't know what it meant still, but she was trying to learn.

"I… do, too," she said, surprising him when he went to turn away. Rachel took a calming breath, stumbling over words that meant more than she thought she was willing to give. Maybe she had changed. "I mean… I appreciate… what you guys do. For me."

They took care of her, protected her, gave her shelter, and gave her friendship. People to talk with, whether that meant arguing or laughing. Rachel was surprised when she realized that mattered as much as it did. She had never had that sort of relationship before.

It was… nice. Somehow, that made it worth trying to protect.

Thundercracker watched her carefully, gauging her like she always did them. He was similar when it came to being guarded on what he was actually feeling. He understood her.

"Don't mention it," he said, which was exactly what she needed to hear. Rachel smiled.

"I'm sorry," she said, blurting it out on impulse again. She clenched her fists; she didn't know why she was so emotional about this now.

That made Thundercracker confused again. "For what?" he asked, startled.

Rachel grimaced. "Not being stronger. I can't even watch your backs during a fight." Even if Jazz caved and let her carry around a human gun someday, they didn't do anything to the drones hardly.

Unsurprisingly, Thundercracker scoffed. "You're a child. You're not going to be expected to do anything like that," he said, in his usual blunt way that should have stung, but it didn't. It was normal for him, and strangely soothing. His optics showed more of a smile than his mouth did. "But the feeling is understood and appreciated, Rachel. You're not a weak link."

How… how did he always know what to say? Rachel looked away from the large mech and exhaled heavily. She wondered if she had known where she would end up two years ago, would she have believed it.

She was glad she had stayed. What that meant for her sanity or rational intellect, she didn't care anymore. Not about this.

"We make a good team, don't we?" she asked, almost without really thinking her words through. She glanced up anyway and offered a tiny smile.

The jet paused, considering. "Yes," he agreed at length. He kept pace with her as they walked onwards. "We do."

**0000**

**On Fear**

It was her fault, because it had been her choice. It didn't cost her life or limb, but it certainly had left a harsh imprint on her mind, for a long time after.

She liked going into towns with Jazz and Thundercracker. Sure, it was scary to walk around the empty cities, always looking for drones hunting them down. But there was so much to see in abandoned towns, even without people there with them. Jazz made it fun and told her a lot about her culture she didn't already know. He showed her how to safely break into a locked building or store to get supplies—or else Thundercracker would break it down for her.

Usually, she had to go into the stores alone. That got unnerving, sometimes. When it was a small store, Jazz would wait by the door with helpful headlights giving her more light to work with. But there were the times Rachel had to venture into the still, dark buildings alone, when the mechs couldn't reach. She wasn't stupid; she didn't go in those places often, except maybe libraries or hospitals.

That day, she saw it before Jazz did. They were walking down a side street in the town they had randomly stumbled upon when she saw a flag pole. A school, it would appear. She immediately decided it was worth going out of sight, because with schools came books. Particularly, empty ones she could write in.

"Hey, can I stop here real quick?" she asked, breaking up the usual companionable silence that fell over them from time to time. Thundercracker frowned and Jazz seemed confused.

"Why?" the silver mech asked, glancing to the side. "What is… oh! A school?"

"Yeah. I wanna see if they have any notebooks lying around," Rachel explained, only a little nervous about her friends telling her to forget about it. It was still pretty light out. They had time for her to stop real quick.

Jazz looked thoughtful for a minute or two. "Look fer a jacket," he said, surprising her.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. Her current jacket was only a month old. Well, she had _had_ it for a month. It was obviously older due to its scavenged state.

"Yer's is gettin' all frayed in th' back. Hold up, lemme see." Impatient, Rachel made a loud sigh as Jazz twirled his hand to make her turn around in front of him. Jazz tsked and tugged at her hood gently. "Stop gripin', ya ungrateful lil' glitchmouse. _Look_ at this. It's gotta hole under th' hood."

Rachel scowled and tugged her jacket back away from him. "Fine, I'll look for a jacket," she said. She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders, looking up at the dull school front. "There probably isn't any left, you know. This whole town is like empty. They probably all evacuated with their personal stuff."

"Well, look anyway, but don't take too long," Jazz said. He glanced over at Thundercracker, who was, as always, patiently glaring at them for taking up valuable time. "Half an hour?"

That would have to do. "Okay," Rachel agreed, heading to the steps. She could see a large hole in the front door, made possibly by early looters.

"Want t' leave your bag?" Jazz called.

Rachel shook her head and kept going. "Nah." She waved absently back at her guardians. "I'll be right back."

Breaking into a building wasn't that complicated, not with years of experience and a flashlight that worked. Ducking low under the broken boards that had once made up the front doors, Rachel immediately turned her flashlight out over the dark, dusty hallway. Nothing moved. It was mostly clear of debris, save for part of the popcorn ceiling having caved in, plus some discarded maintenance supplies. It was a small lobby that lead out into a single branch of corridor that must have led to the classrooms.

Rachel was mindful of broken glass as she progressed further into the school. It was all so quiet. She didn't like it. Even while traveling outdoors, there was the wind, or crushed foliage to listen to. Here, she could hear her own breath. It made it seem like she was being watched, or if she made a single loud noise, a whole hoard of drones would pop up out of the tiled floors.

Luckily, she was able to get to the hallway without any problems. She saw old drawings plastered up outside of some doors several feet away, so that was probably a classroom… but her attention was stolen by another blank door near an old water fountain. There was a lot more debris where she was standing, but the door had a plaque on it, and if she wasn't mistaken, it was a supply closet.

Rachel opened the closet and was surprised by how much was left on the wooden shelves, all reachable by children. A stack of black and white copybooks, untouched and unused, sat on one of the shelves in an almost beckoning manner.

"Sweet," she whispered out loud without thinking. She grabbed hold of the stack of books, but froze. She couldn't take all of them with her, though maybe she could make Jazz carry some for her…

It wasn't worth taking it all. She took three empty books and shoved them into her backpack. She also wanted to see if she could find any old school books that might have been interesting, like a history text book. She doubted any of it was in a language she understood, but Jazz could translate. It would give her a chance to practice her German or French, or whatever the hell language dominated the place they were in now. She had lost track a few days previous.

Leaving the closet, she nervously stepped over another fallen ceiling slab and tried to figure out how to reach the first classroom. Rachel glanced over her shoulder, toward the front door, but she didn't hear anything. She still had some time.

To avoid a low-hanging mess of wires, Rachel took off her bag to carry through the doorway, which stuck a little. She was surprised by the amount of sunlight coming in from the windows, which were all smashed and warped. Maybe that happened during the bombings, she considered.

Her eyes immediately went to the teacher's desk, where she saw another pile of books. They looked like geography books, judging by the map on the cover. Rachel smiled in appreciation and immediately crossed over to the desk to look at it. With maps, she didn't need to know the language of the author. She picked up the dust-soaked book and shook the sediment off, though it didn't do much. It was caked on rather thickly.

She turned her attention to the back of the room, where there might have been a coat rack with something she could use to wipe the book clean—

She stopped at the front of the desk. She stared out at the classroom, which was almost intact compared to a lot of the other rooms. There wasn't a single sound, outside of her own ragged breathing, but she could imagine. She could imagine the sound of children laughing, or the teacher speaking to them. She could imagine the children, not that much younger than her, taking out their books and preparing to learn.

She could imagine the screams coming from the corpses now strewn about the room, white bone infected with serrated lashes and air-dried strips of flesh. She could almost hear those screams coming up from the jawbone lying at the side of a dust-covered pink school bag.

Rachel grabbed her bag and ran. She ran out of the classroom and nearly fell down the one hole in the floor. She didn't bother to be quiet, kicking a stray bucket on the way toward the exit. She slid over the dusty tile into the door closer than the broken door she had climbed through before, slamming the wooden door open. It flew out and hit the side of the school wall loudly, but she didn't care. She flung herself out into the light, with a cloud of dust and nightmares following her footsteps.

They were dead. They were all dead. Children, in school, probably caught in the first siege all those decades ago, where the drones weren't even a real thought in anyone's heads, let alone in night terrors or daytime fears. They probably had only a few seconds to react. Children.

They probably died screaming.

"— _WHOA_ , what's wrong? !" She barely heard someone speaking, but by the time she did, Jazz was already in front of her. "Rachel, what's—?"

Rachel briefly realized she was breathing heavily, like she had just run a great distance. Whirling around, Rachel saw the door shut, the inside gone from sight, locking away its inner horrors and the screams.

"What's _wrong_?" Jazz repeated, more insistent this time. She could hear his weapons activate. Thundercracker moved into the corner of her vision. Both were ready to fight. "Are there drones?"

Shuddering violently, Rachel shook her head as much as she could, until she realized it was unnecessary and she had to force herself to stop. She tried to pull her bag on, because they had to get out of the area anyway, _they had to leave_ , but she couldn't get her one arm through. She fought with it for a moment before it was pulled away from her by larger hands and she let it go, body numb.

"Rachel?"

She let him have the bag. She didn't care. She saw the end of the road they had been aiming to move along and set it as her goal. Her legs seemed to be steady, but when Rachel tried to walk forward, her feet couldn't find the ground.

She had to leave this place, _now_.

Heavy footsteps behind her increased and Jazz caught up with her easily, slowing down to walk beside her. Rachel wanted to tell him to stop dawdling and just keep going.

"Rachel, come here."

Rachel tried to ignore him. She ignored the offered hand. She did, at least, until she stumbled slightly and Jazz moved his hand out in precaution. Her hands found the rough metal claws, which promised so much pain if used the wrong way.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze and saw Jazz staring at her intensely, visor wide. In all the time she had traveled with them, she had finally learned to spot the flickers of emotion in the subtle, alien face of his. He had molded his face like many other mechs had, he had told her once, to fit the human range of expressions while on Earth. Now, she could see the concern in his bright blue eyes.

With shaky limbs, Rachel found herself pulling up into the hands, which quickly cupped around her in support, dragging her away from the ground. Everything felt so far away.

Jazz pushed her toward his chest, offering protection. For the first time she could recall, she completely accepted it. Shivering, she pressed as close as she could to the metal chest, the expected cold nonexistent. Instead, it was warm. Jazz was warm. There was a faint noise behind the metal that didn't entirely blend in with the other mechanical noises he normally produced. It was like…

"You're okay," he murmured, somewhere above her head. His voice sort of blended with the whirling noise, which almost—almost—reminded her of purring. "It's okay, kiddo."

Rachel tried to stop breathing so hard. She only then realized she was crying. She wiped at the moisture before letting her face drop against his chest again. She was freezing.

"They're all dead," she whispered, eyes pinned to the metal. Everything else beyond that ceased to exist. But not that room. "They killed them in the room."

She had seen plenty of dead bodies. But not like that. Not like that. It reminded her of how Amy and Suzy died. In pieces.

Jazz was moving now, purposely cover her head with his other hand as if to block out the vision of the school. "It's okay," he said again, calmly, firmly. "We're here, an' now we're leaving."

Rachel shut her eyes tightly. "Good."

They went on for a while, but Rachel only looked up after she had finally collected herself. She didn't recognize the area, but the farm met up with the edge of forest, which they quickly slipped into. Rachel kept her eyes shut and pressed against Jazz's chest, the jostling of his steps only a little jarring so far up in the air. Finally, they did stop for evening camp and Rachel had expected to be put down on the ground after Jazz eased her away from his chest and she blearily looked around at the wooded clearing they were in.

Jazz didn't put her down. Instead, he offered his hands over to Thundercracker, who waited in silence for Rachel to slide over. She wasn't sure if she should, but Jazz nudged her so she just decided to go with it. Thundercracker did the same thing Jazz did and pulled his hands close to his chest, avoiding pressing her against his canopy. Rachel could see her reflection in the muddy, cracked yellow glass, knowing she probably looked awful. Deep within his blue chassis, Thundercracker started to make the same sound Jazz had made, or something similar. Rachel strained to listen to it, now curious.

"Are you purring?" she asked, knowing she wasn't very loud.

"What?" Thundercracker asked, deep voice gentle, obviously not trying to sound as intimidating as he normally was.

"Nothing." Rachel clung to the metal, still way too cold. "I just want to go to bed."

The reason for the changing of hands became apparent when Rachel heard Jazz transform. She peered down warily, feeling dizzy, as Thundercracker crouched low enough that he could place her on the ground.

"Come on, baby girl," Jazz said, still horrendously soothing and confusingly nice. Rachel stood in front of the opened side door in a daze. "If ya want, there's vacancy fer th' night."

He was trying to speak so nicely, with quiet jokes, and it just made Rachel feel more disconnected with the world. She did stumble forward and curl up on the dark seat, which was already warm. The first thing she thought of was to be defensive and to tell him to stop coddling, because that only made her feel worse.

Only this time, it didn't. Not really. Rachel saw her bag already sitting in the other seat; Jazz probably had sub-spaced it or whatever they called it earlier. She stared at it for a moment before slowly pulling it over to grab her blanket. She was tired and sick of being awake. She could only hope she didn't dream; she doubted they would be pleasant.

It was so odd to curl up as early as it was, especially inside Jazz. She didn't like sleeping inside him because well, you just didn't sleep inside someone else. Especially someone she saw a lot. All of the time, actually. Jazz didn't care. He never did. Rachel curled up tighter under her blanket and tried to ignore where she was.

Jazz was thankfully quiet for a while, but when he noticed she wasn't falling asleep, his whole frame vibrated gently. "You want me t' talk?" he asked. "Or play some music?"

"No." Rachel knew it wouldn't help. It wouldn't bother her either, to be honest. "I don't care."

"I got some music files," Jazz offered, speaking so calmly, it made Rachel's eyes burn. "Soothing stuff, it'll help ya sleep."

She shook her head and tried to sleep. It was a hopeless effort. "No." She stopped, opening her eyes into the darkening car interior. He was trying to be nice. She didn't understand it, but… She looked up at the dashboard and imagined she could see his face. "It's okay. I'm… fine."

She knew he didn't believe her. She didn't care. She shuddered and curled up more. She sort of wished she could still hear the purring noise.

"We're safe here," Jazz said, voice urging a sort of promise no one—not even at her mother at the very end of her life—had ever offered her before. "Nobody's gonna hurt you."

She couldn't understand how an alien like him could ever care about a creature like _her_. She didn't know why he expected her to trust him, when it had been his species' fault her own had suffered all of this. Why did she want to trust him?

Why did she believe him?

"I… know," she said, closing her eyes again. She fought ugly visions, hoping and struggling to just let all the images fade away. They would, as all the others had, but it was so heavy to carry around, especially when trying to rest. "I just keep seeing them," she whispered, her emotions traitorous. She pressed her face more into the seat. "They won't go away."

Jazz rumbled slightly, before falling into a warm silence, his presence everywhere. "TC's gonna keep watch all night, an' I'll stay up here with ya, so don't worry about being alone, okay?" he said quietly. "We're here fer ya."

Rachel closed her eyes. It wasn't hard to believe that. It was almost a relief.

"Okay," she whispered.

She fell asleep knowing she'd wake up again and things would be better. She could go on from there. She was just grateful she wouldn't do it alone.

**0000**

**On Education**

"Th' capital of th' United States."

"Washington, D.C."

"England?"

"London."

"India?"

Rachel paused in mid-climb, frowning. "Uhhhh. New Delhi?"

"Correct!" Jazz effortlessly launched himself over the fallen tree on the path, jostling her a little. "Japan?"

Thundercracker wasn't sure how it started, or when, but the spontaneous questions from Jazz came and went as they became used to traveling with the tiny human femme that Thundercracker reluctantly acknowledged wasn't leaving any time soon. At first, the questioning seemed just a way for Jazz to stave off boredom, but when Jazz began to ask more specific questions, Thundercracker realized his intentions.

"Didja ever go to school?" Jazz asked, as the mechs watched Rachel heat up a can of coffee over the fire.

"I never stayed a camp long where they had some sort of school," she said, surprisingly talkative. Normally, she shunned questions about her past.

That seemed to give Jazz the idea that he should somehow become a tutor, albeit a relaxed one who could keep up with the moody pre-teen's shifting attitudes. Thundercracker was vaguely pleased by the idea, once he became used to Rachel being around. He despised idiots, and while the child already had exceptional common sense, he was always a proponent of academia.

Jazz's sentimentality on the matter was odd to contemplate, however.

"She won't know anythin' about her culture or Earth if we don't help," Jazz had explained to the jet in private, surprisingly grim despite the good humor he had had toward the training earlier. "Kids need adults t' teach them. That's where we have t' step in. Fer her own sake."

That was fine by Thundercracker, granted _Jazz_ was the one who was obligated to bother trying. It made the child's presence seem that much more permanent, considering human knowledge production took, well, a long time. It promised she'd be around awhile and Thundercracker wasn't sure he liked that just yet.

Human refugee camps were good for teaching human behavior, but not much else, as it turned out. Jazz tutored Rachel on nearly every subject, or at least nearly all of the ones human culture valued that Thundercracker was aware of. She didn't like mathematics too much, but Jazz still made sure she knew "the basics," like multiplication, division, and some minor algebra. He turned it into games for her when they stopped for rests, drawing in the dirt for her to visualize, since humans lacked precise internal visualization abilities apparently.

What Rachel really liked were the studies of history and literature. It was strangely amusing to watch how the child's face lit up with joy when Jazz read stories out loud (if they couldn't find the books in towns they ransacked), or when she got his geography quizzes correct. She enjoyed the sense of accomplishment clearly, but Thundercracker also came to realize she simply enjoyed learning. Her mind was as ferocious as her temper.

After awhile, Thundercracker became curious as to what the child would actually retain from the meager mentoring attempts. He was also interested to see if she had any aptitude for studies he found to be important.

"Do you know chemistry?" he asked as they walked through tall grass, which was high enough that Rachel almost disappeared into the dead brown stalks. Thundercracker had to be extra careful not to step on her.

Rachel shrugged. "I know H2O stands for water," she replied, indifferent.

A brief reference back to human knowledge data files told Thundercracker she was correct. "What is the chemical make-up of air?" he asked.

"Oxygen," Rachel replied, confident.

Thundercracker made a tsking sound. "Wrong." He tilted his helm at her indignant confusion. "The Earth's atmosphere is composed of many elements, oxygen being dwarfed significantly in ratio to nitrogen. Other elements such as argon, neon, and carbon dioxide are—"

Rachel abruptly made a groaning sound and waved her hand up at him dismissively. "Ughh. I don't care," she said.

Optics narrowing, Thundercracker was displeased by her rejection. Science was just as important to understand as anything else, perhaps even _more so_ than her literature studies. "You should have a well-rounded knowledge base," he said, though afterwards he had to question why it mattered if she did. It wasn't like he cared—

"But I don't like it," Rachel complained. She suddenly changed topics, brightening up in a way only one real topic ever did for her. "Do you know the names of the plays Shakespeare wrote?"

He could have looked them up. It was all irrelevant. He should have just gone back to ignoring her. "…No," he admitted at length, unsure why he was bothering.

Rachel actually grinned. "I know all of them! I think." The youngling's brow furrowed as she tried to recall the names, her enthusiasm a relief, though he didn't know why. "There's _Romeo and Juliet_ , _Twelfth Night_ , _A Midsummer's Night Dream_ , uh, _King Lear_ —"

As she nattered on about plays he had never read (but reluctantly noted he would in the future), Thundercracker was still trying to understand why any of this actually mattered. It was beginning to. He wasn't sure if that was normal, or even sane.

Sometimes the information was briefly discussed and never brought up again. It bothered Thundercracker to waste time teaching the girl things that weren't going to be actually honed to decent proficiency, but she seemed to enjoy the spontaneous tidbits Jazz came up with, probably keeping her mind active and the information fresh.

"Count to ten in German," the silver saboteur instructed as Rachel made her bed on the ground with blankets. Thundercracker wondered where the materials had all come from, when he realized it had been over two years since they met up.

Rachel frowned. "I don't remember all of them."

"Try it," Jazz coached.

"Ummm." The face of forced memory recall was mildly amusing on the child's face, as Thundercracker watched on in silence. " _Eins_ … _zwei_ , _drei_ …"

She counted past ten and started rattling off other languages until she fell asleep. Jazz just smiled happily, probably at sentiments that would make no sense to Thundercracker's processors—

Except he would never comment on it, because he smiled faintly, too. Of all things to be proud of… he had either fallen as far as he possibly could, or he had simply been missing something for all of the mega-vorns he had been alive.

One day, they were caught up in a light rain. It was bad enough that Thundercracker had chosen to carry Rachel, her tarp protecting her adequately from the rain. He still used his hands to help keep it in place and give her extra cover. With Jazz a bit further down the path to keep up scouting, Thundercracker decided to bring out the questions if only to pass the time in more than comfortable silence.

"Name all the planets," he said quietly, ignoring the faint sensation of water colliding with his armor.

Rachel yawned and rested her face against his canopy more. "Earth, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Saturn, Jupiter… Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto," she said. She paused and then added, "And Cybertron."

It almost made him laugh. "That's not in your solar system," he said, though he knew she knew that. This was all elementary material for her at this point.

"No, but it's still out there, isn't it?" Rachel pointed out, shuffling her cover closer.

Thundercracker paused. "Many others are," he said, not looking down at her. He thought about all the far off worlds he had ever explored. Or helped to destroy. There were too many.

Rachel shrugged against him, indifferent to all the things that should have mattered, like how much Cybertron's very existence had doomed her own world. "It matters more than the others," she said.

For all of her anger and occasional blaming of the aliens for her suffering, Rachel never once blamed Thundercracker or Jazz for what happened. She accepted them not as aliens anymore, he didn't think, but rather… people. People she could either trust, or at least count on.

Thundercracker resisted the urge to clutch her tighter, fighting various feelings unbefitting of a mateless ex-Decepticon. He was glad she did that. That she saw them worth counting on. He would not fail in that.

"Summarize _Beowulf_. From the beginning."

**0000**

**On Family**

It was spring, or the weak spring Europe could now support. The morning nearly over, Thundercracker had resigned himself to walking quietly through the alpine woods with Jazz and Rachel talking amicably about some novel both had liked. Their chatter made good background noise and was surprisingly comforting.

That was why when Rachel abruptly stopped talking, it was an immediate concern. The blond human had stopped a little past Jazz and was peering at something with intense little eyes.

"What's wrong?" Jazz asked. Thundercracker refrained from activating his weapons just yet.

"Look," the little girl said, pointing out across the field they were close to.

Both mechs honed in on the direction she was pointing and Thundercracker did not expect to see much. Rachel would never point at something dangerous so calmly. He was still surprised when he saw the faint outline of a wooden wall.

"A camp!" Jazz exclaimed. He grinned at his two companions, readily changing directions to head over to the camp. "Well, let's go check it out."

"Hopefully it's not a bunch of cannibals," Rachel said, glancing their way. She frowned.

Thundercracker growled lowly as he followed up behind her and Jazz. He didn't like stopping too frequently for camps, but he knew Jazz enjoyed it. Rachel also needed human contact. He agreed with Rachel, however, on the dangers the camp might hold for them. Or rather, for her.

Once, they had run into a wandering band of cannibals, almost a year ago. Jazz had quietly told him what they were while the bandits were watching them intensely, eyes on Rachel. The girl in question had frozen up like a wild rabbit. Thundercracker wasted no time stalking off toward the horrid humans, making them scatter like the wretches they were; he would sooner rust over before he just let something _eat_ one of his allies.

Not that he'd let his companions know that, but most likely they already knew.

"Nah, look at that fortification. They're pretty organized. I can see sentries," Jazz said, breaking into those thoughts. He seemed upbeat now. "I think they're an old military group. Let's check it."

They walked up slowly, Thundercracker already holding his hands out at his side to show he meant no harm. Jazz did the same. Rachel didn't have to worry about it, but she kept to Jazz's shadow while they approached, just in case these weren't friendly. They had never had the situation where a camp attacked the two mechs, but Thundercracker didn't want to risk their luck.

There were already eyes watching them. Thundercracker could see faint movement behind the barricade. The humans were watching them through cuts in the log walls. The entire structure was surprisingly sturdy.

"Hello?" Jazz called up at the gate. He grinned up at the hidden humans, obviously knowing they were there, too. "Anyone home? _Bonjour_?"

There was a long pause. Whispers, shuffling, then silence.

"S-state your business," a voice demanded behind the fortification wall, attempting to sound brave. Thundercracker snorted.

"We're just travelers lookin' fer a place t' rest up a bit," Jazz replied, smiling winningly. He gestured below at his feet. "Got a human who would like some water and food if ya can spare it."

"I also need a hair brush," Rachel suddenly said. She ran her hand through her messy hair with disdain. "Look at this mess."

Jazz frowned. "What happened t' yer other one?"

"TC stepped on it," Rachel deadpanned, glancing upwards at the jet calmly.

Thundercracker growled, especially when Jazz burst out laughing. He didn't say much during these exchanges, mostly because his size and voice tended to frighten the organics they encountered. Jazz was a much better speaker, but combined with Rachel, the two put on this usual spectacle of joking around. Rachel instinctually went along with Jazz's antics as if she knew the benefits of making them seem silly instead of intimidating in order to gain the trust of strangers. Considering who she was, it was most likely true she knew they were being manipulative and went along with it.

As usual, it worked. The humans were incredibly wary about letting the Cybertronians in, but Rachel soothed a lot of fears by insisting Jazz pick her up with far more emphasis than needed. She was definitely in on the whole _we're-innocent-jokesters_ routine. Thundercracker just stood in the background as they moved inside the base, knowing multiple weapons were pointed his way, as well as terrified gazes of those brave enough to be out in the open.

The camp had military-grade tents in two rows toward the back of the mountain-fortified wall. There were carved out entrances into the mountainside as well, so the base had probably been around for a while. Telltale markings of soot and gashes in the earth at various points in the circular camp told of previous drone attacks. They had been standing for awhile then. True survivors. That was a good sign.

The three stopped in the center of the camp and waited for the humans to collect themselves. Jazz put Rachel down. Thundercracker immediately noticed a tall red-haired man walking their way. His faded military fatigues had to be hand-me-downs from real soldiers long since dead, but he had an authoritative air about him. He was clearly in charge.

"'Ello there," the redhead said, eyebrows up high on his forehead. He had an odd accent that wasn't quite British. He looked specifically at Thundercracker and Jazz. "This is new."

Jazz had a knack for knowing who leaders were in a group. He nodded his head politely. "We're just passin' through an' thought t' see what was happenin' in here. Don't worry, sir," he said. He gestured at himself and his friends. "I'm Autobot Jazz, th' big guy's Thundercracker, an' this darlin' is Rachel."

"You can call me O'Conner," the human leader said. Thundercracker finally decided the accent was Scottish. He glanced specifically at Rachel, eyes narrowing. "And what are ye, lass?"

"I'm American," Rachel replied, her shyness dissipating as long as she was right next to Jazz. She looked around the fort appraisingly. "You're pretty fortified here."

Such words from a youngling; sometimes it was difficult to remember Rachel was as observant as she was. Thundercracker silently watched the exchanges and ignored the number of soldiers still scoping him out. They'd be leaving soon, anyway.

"You know it," O'Conner said proudly. He thumped his chest with a closed fist. "We aren't going to hand ourselves over to those ruddy aliens without a fight."

Jazz and Thundercracker exchanged brief glances. Rachel nodded, awkward. "Right…" she said, averting her eyes to look at the walls again. Perhaps they should leave relatively soon, Thundercracker thought.

Small talk was continued, courtesy of Jazz. O'Conner had seen mechs before, when he was a boy. He spent a good time glaring at Thundercracker's chest sigil despite the fact that Jazz and Rachel both vouched for his Neutrality. Thundercracker endured it patiently. They still had daylight.

Rachel managed to trade a book of hers, one she had long since finished reading, for fresh clothing and a new hairbrush. None of the items were new, really, but the humans made do with what they had.

Everything had gone perfectly fine, with Jazz sharing his stories about the Autobots and Rachel's story of how she met the mechs, but then, the attention turned from the transformers. Rachel found herself being questioned by O'Conner himself, with several eager looking humans beside him. Several women had been looking at her with pitying expressions when she recounted her joining up with the two mechs, but none of the three had noticed the problem… until now.

"Ye can stay if ye want," O'Conner announced. Thundercracker froze when he realized the human was speaking to Rachel, and _only_ Rachel. "I can't let the aliens stay, but you're a bit young t'be wandering around with them, aren't ye?"

Instantly, the air changed. The humans didn't notice it, though Rachel was currently staring in shock at the camp leader. Jazz had stopped moving and was watching the situation like a hawk. For Thundercracker…

A raw sense of anger filled him. And fear.

"I'm…" Rachel began, hesitating. She didn't look at the mechs, but seemed unsure of what to say. She adjusted her backpack nervously. "We're fine. Thanks, but no thanks."

O'Conner scoffed. "Come on. Ye can't really be thinking of staying with them for the long run? I imagine the protection is nice, but ye should be with your own kind, lass."

A nearly inaudible growl rose up in Thundercracker and it took almost everything he had not to snarl something at the human. He wanted to leave—now, with _both_ his companions—because this had suddenly become unacceptable.

_::TC.::_

Thundercracker turned his helm and saw Jazz watching him with a sad visor.

_::Let her choose,::_ he said simply.

The fear only increased, which didn't make sense to Thundercracker. There was… no logical reason to be afraid. He looked back at the humans and his spark grew heavy when he found Rachel.

…It _was_ her choice. And there was no reason at all for him to feel this way about it. She wasn't their kind. She was just a child, and children needed their own kind, after all.

That didn't make it easier to stand there, waiting. Thundercracker fought back the fear and tried to focus on what was the right thing for the youngling. After everything else they had experienced in the last three years, he owed her that.

Rachel looked uncomfortable facing off between the humans in front of her and the mechs behind her. It was both a blessing and a curse she didn't say anything right away; she didn't defend her traveling companions, but at least she didn't outright agree to part ways.

"I was with my own kind. For most of my life," Rachel began, her shoulders drawing back slightly. She glanced to the mechs before looking back at O'Conner and the other expectant humans. "The only thing is… the only group that's lasted the longest for me and worked out the best was with these two."

Her answer didn't please the humans, but Thundercracker didn't care what they thought. He felt a ridiculous amount of relief flood his spark when Rachel awkwardly thanked the campers again and backed up alongside Jazz, letting him take over goodbyes. Thundercracker sent O'Conner a glare before he turned to follow his companions out. He was glad to be leaving this place.

Outside, it was about mid-afternoon. Rachel had grown more at ease once they were past the wooden gates and walked ahead of them confidently. Thundercracker and Jazz exchanged another quick look before Jazz make a fake clearing-his-throat sound, causing the human girl to look his way. They were already far enough way from the camp they wouldn't be heard by the campers.

Jazz tilted his helm and smiled at Rachel's inquiring stare. "You could stay. We wouldn't stop ya, Rach. It might be better fer ya," he said, hiding whatever emotion he was really feeling then with calmness.

Whatever reaction Thundercracker had anticipated, didn't show. Rachel shot her shorter guardian a mocking smirk. "Why would I leave?" she asked. She walked on past him in an arrogant saunter. "Without me, you guys wouldn't last a week."

Momentarily stunned into silence, Thundercracker stared after the human, who seemed perfectly content to lead the charge back into the woods again. Jazz recovered faster than the Seeker did, and broke out into chuckles. The saboteur looked up at Thundercracker with a small smile on his faceplates and both mechs took after the girl at a sedate pace.

Something was still off. Thundercracker kept glancing behind them, as if expecting the humans to reappear. They didn't. Rachel continued to walk calmly with them. It didn't make sense, considering how much Rachel seemed to dislike making poor choices for survival. Certainly sticking with the mechs made sense; they could protect her better than even a whole group of human soldiers.

But they weren't her kind. Out of every other concern she had ever had about survival, surely Rachel would consider that a factor in staying or leaving?

What _did_ she think of their group? It was such a mismatched unit: a Seeker, an Autobot, and a human youngling. Thundercracker didn't think about it often, because it never really mattered most days, but now… it got him thinking.

"We don't have a word for this," he said quietly. She glanced his way as they walked. "The three of us."

"Thought you had trines," she said. She did remember things with uncanny memory sometimes, just from brief conversation, despite not remembering other things. Her memory was quite selective.

Thundercracker shrugged. "That's different. We're not like that." This was nothing like a trine. It was nothing like anything he had known on Cybertron.

Her yellow head shaking, Rachel rolled her eyes and huffed in the usual way she handled Jazz's inane jokes, or something she found ridiculous. "Well, on Earth, we just call it family," she said bluntly.

The frankness was her defense; she hid her emotions beneath layers of disdain and disinterest. Thundercracker knew the routine as well as she knew his and Jazz's. None of them would ever admit such routines existed, but that was the point. They didn't have to. The others already knew after years of enduring them, and ultimately, understanding each other.

Family. A social unit consisting of creators and their offspring. On Earth, it meant everything. There was a lesser meaning found on Cybertron, but Thundercracker knew it didn't matter. On Earth, family was what mattered most…

Because after losing everything else, it was more important than energon or resources. It was the only thing left to tether yourself to. Thundercracker didn't know if he deserved to be a part of such a word, but he trusted Rachel's comment and Jazz's knowing smile to confirm that maybe, in this twisted, warped world of theirs, he did.

"…Acceptable," he said averting his gaze.

Jazz fell in step with him and seemed to hum, visor bright with honest happiness. None of that exaggerated kind he would pull up like a veil when things got bad. Thundercracker liked the quiet happiness far better. Jazz moved in closer and brushed against his armor like a breeze.

"We've done good, haven't we?" he asked quietly, linking hands with the jet.

Thundercracker squeezed the smaller hand gently. "Yes," he said. "We have."

Ahead them, Rachel jumped from rock to rock. Jazz spontaneously joined in and the laughter that followed, from both mech and human, made Thundercracker smile to himself in the rare peace afforded to them that brought moments like these out for him to acknowledge and cherish.

They had done well, indeed.

 

**End "Raising Rachel."**

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns:  
> -My head canon went nuts in this story, including on the relation between creators/guardians and sparklings. I see the transformers as being rather communal caregivers who don't care about lineage when it comes to sparklings, because they lack maternal/paternal instincts as humans know it. Basically, every mech/femme has some sort of "parental caring protocols" that make it difficult for even ex-'Cons to turn away a distressed sparkling. A built in self-preservation instinct for the species, overall, considering sparklings don't necessarily needed bonded pairs and "parents" aren't obligated to stick around (and might not and no one would really think less of them).  
> -Related to that parental caring protocol head canon: The purring thing is just a comfort noise, which would be more poignant to an actual distressed sparkling. It's instinctual here.  
> -Also in my head-canon, Thundercracker isn't the scientist Starscream was, but he was still part of the Seekers, who were basically the "explorer" caste. They went to different planets to look for resources, or in Starscream's case, to do science stuff. That's why the Seekers are special here: they can travel in space unaided by shuttles and have extra strength/speed because of that.  
> -Pluto is not a planet, yes, I know, but just let the kid have her nine planets.  
> -Also, when all three of our Fallout ladies "synced" up, Wildrider also joined in and claimed he also had cramps. If you don't understand what I mean by syncing up, Google it ahaha.


	6. Language Barrier (Post-Series)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Language Barrier  
> ERA: Post-Apocalypse  
> RATING: K/G  
> CHARACTERS: Barns, Kass, Sam Witwicky, Mikaela Banes, Epps, Optimus Prime, Wildrider, Arcee, Sideswipe, Smokescreen  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Forced multilinguism.
> 
> Just a silly story about Wildrider (and a few surprising others) being silly. Some important world building, too, at least concerning the Autobot base on Mars. I'm posting this without any beta'ing, because I am impatient. :D
> 
>  
> 
> Overall Warnings: canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling stories.

  


_April, 2011  
Plumas Base_

It was spring, the first one the survivors had been able to experience after the War. Barns was enjoying it thoroughly. The trees surrounding the slowly-dismantling NEST base were all in bloom and he was fascinated like the others were by the flowers. So many colors… so full of life… it was beautiful.

They were hard at work trying to organize the departure of the first mechs to Mars to get to work on the colony. They hadn't gotten a full OK yet for the energon refinement, but Barns was immensely glad they had finally agreed to let them get started with using of human and Autobot resources to build the homeless transformers a home. It would be close enough that there would be easy contact between humanity and the aliens, but it was far enough away that the naysayers in Congress and the public sphere were (mostly) appeased.

It was only fair the Autobots were given _something_ for their brave actions in defense of Earth. Many of them had died fighting in that last battle with _Nemesis_ , and the threat of more Decepticons heading their way was always on their minds. The Autobots deserved kindness, and what better to give them than the help in building their new home?

Barns had dived back into his online college studies and was pleased by Keller's promise that if he completed at least a basic degree in computer science, he'd be allowed to help in the NEST-run relocation of the Autobots to Mars. Barns was ecstatic to help, even though his family would be staying on Earth, at Plumas, once the rest of the mechs left. Their ten finally received Green Cards and were official citizens of the United States, including the mechs, so they could stay right there.

The main issue now was dealing with the remaining Decepticon prisoners left on the moon, within the now defunct _Nemesis_. Ultra Magnus, one of the Autobot generals, would be leading the first construction efforts on Mars' own moon, Demos, which could hold the several dozen Decepticons who refused to defect. Those that did defect would be heading to trial much sooner and receive lighter prison sentences, or that's how Jazz had explained it. Barns thought that was fair; most of the human pundits wanted capitol punishments, but thankfully the Autobots had ultimate jurisdiction over any Decepticons in their control.

With the Earth warming up and the future of Mars slowly becoming a clearer reality, Barns felt very happy. He had gladly accepted Kass' suggestion of sunning outside on top of an empty container unit, since it wasn't too hot that the metal would be burning. Instead, everything was delightfully warm, and even Barns, who preferred cooler temperatures, could have napped there all day.

Mechs approached their nap zone sometime after noon, after Sam (on break from college), Mikaela and shockingly Epps had joined them up on the container. Things were _so_ laid back now despite the business of the Mars expeditions, Barns mused with a smile. He enjoyed it.

"What are you guys doing?" he heard Sideswipe ask. Barns rolled over and smiled at the audience they now had. Optimus and Sideswipe looked amused while Wildrider looked confused. Smokescreen was also there and seemed curious.

"We _WERE_ sleeping," Mikaela shot back. She and Sideswipe had a companionable bickering relationship, Barns had learned; they both enjoyed verbally sparring like siblings, though Sideswipe's actual brother, Sunstreaker, didn't like any of the humans very much.

"The sun feels great," Kass added. She chuckled at Wildrider's sudden nod. "Heya, mate. Where've you been?"

"Vorking," Wildrider replied. He suddenly looked exaggeratedly tired and stretched, almost smacking into Optimus, who kindly chose to simply move away. Sideswipe laughed loudly, though Smokescreen didn't look impressed.

Barns chuckled. "Doing what?" he wondered, looking at the particular mechs curiously. What could Wildrider and Sideswipe be doing alongside Prime and Smokescreen, of all mechs?

"We were discussing future rotations of mechs who would assist in the start of the colony," Optimus explained.

"Does that mean Wildrider is going to Mars?" Kass asked, alarmed.

"He's already spacey," Epps complained from his horizontal position. He laughed at his own lame joke.

Mikaela snorted and Kass rolled her eyes. "Hilarious."

Of course, Wildrider took joking offense. He growled and stopped over to a stack of wooden crates.

" _Вы не те, которые работают над этим! Я устал от этой работы_!" he snarled, gesturing upwards. He sat down in a huff. " _Правительство настолько глуп и медленно_!"

Barns, like Kass, didn't even blink at the sudden spout of Russian from the red-and-black mech. Wildrider had run into Russian soldiers long before meeting their group and had installed the Russian language files from the batch of Earth files he had downloaded before, well, the end of the Decepticon army. His accent was obviously an embellishment, but he did in fact know Russian fluently, and enjoyed it. He found it more aggressive than English was. For their family, it was normal. Barns had no idea what Wildrider said, of course, but that was okay.

But at the sudden silence that followed the explosive exclamation, Barns looked up and saw most of the others in their presence were now staring at Wildrider with varying expressions of shock. Barns sat up a bit more, unsure of what to expect next. Surely the other mechs realized Wildrider could speak another language? After all, the accent…

" _Whoa_ , what the frag did you just spit out?" Sideswipe exclaimed, stunned. He looked over at the other mechs, arching an optic ridge. "Uh, someone go get Ratchet, 'cause the nutjob is having a real glitch or something."

Wildrider glared nastily at the red mech. " _Кто просил_ _вас_ , splitter?" He suddenly paused and looked disappointed. " _Ах_ _, шлак,_ _у них нет_ _слов_ _за это_." He grinned. "Брат-Fragger."

Sideswipe's engines revved loudly as he rolled closer with angered optics. "Hey! What did you just say to me? !" he demanded, picking up the few distinguishable words that just so happen to be slurs.

A wicked idea entered Barns' head as he first thought to diffuse the situation. Wildrider and Sideswipe were friends now, but both were easily riled and Wildrider knew how to push _everyone's_ buttons. The grinning mech was ignorant to the fact Sideswipe was actually angry over the insult.

And so, Barns cleared his throat, earning the attention of everyone present. He smiled politely at Sideswipe.

" _Euh, Sideswipe, vous ne parlez pas russe? Ou en français_?" he asked, which sent Sideswipe gawking at the human in bewilderment. " _Wildrider parle russe si bien! Quelles sont les langues parlez-vous?_ "

Without needing a prompt, Kass brought a hand up to her face and looked at Sideswipe in sympathy. " _Ich glaube, er versteht nur Englisch_ ," she said. " _Wie schade_!"

" _Oui, c'est dommage_ ," Barns said, nodding with a sad frown. " _Vortex seulement et Bluestreak sont monolingues. Même Rachel connaît un peu de français_."

" _Ich kenne fast fünf Sprachen_ ," Kass added. She smiled pleasantly at Wildrider, who inclined his head in perfect response, despite the fact he didn't know what she was saying. They were good like that. " _Ich wollte sehen, ob ich Russisch an einem gewissen Punkt auch lernen könnte, aber vielleicht jetzt kann ich_."

Needless to say, Sideswipe was irritated. "Primus… what the frag? How do you know so many languages?" he demanded, almost flustered. Barns couldn't help but laugh when he saw Optimus chuckle at the expense of his soldier. Smokescreen, who did know many languages, openly laughed.

"Barns _is_ French, you know," Mikaela said helpfully. She and Sam exchanged grins at the humorous exchange.

Sideswipe glanced around and glared at Wildrider, who grinned back. "But why does that psycho know something else? I thought you said the Internet went down when you got to Earth?"

" _Il l'a obtenu à partir d'un fichier de package avant leur débarquement_ ," Barns replied. He grinned shamelessly. " _Peut-être que vous devriez télécharger un aussi_."

" _Я люблю это_ _!_ _Давайте_ _продолжать идти_!" Wildrider exclaimed, laughing nastily.

"Speak one language, _Primus_!" Sideswipe snapped. He huffed, ignoring the majority of the group's laughter. "At least _we_ use Standardized Iaconian, like sane mechs."

"We have Kaonite and Vosnian dialects," Smokescreen pointed out. "And Prowl and I both have adequate files on Praxian."

Sideswipe sneered. "That stuff is old as rust, though. No one uses it in conversation now." He glared at Wildrider. "You think you're funny, but you just sound stupid. Crazy glitch."

A sudden sound made Barns look away from the mechs. Arcee had approached them during this whole spectacle and seemed to have gotten the gist of the conversation. She was sending Wildrider a lukewarm stare and when he noticed her, he grinned shamelessly.

"Your boy-toy's an idiot," Sideswipe said in lieu of greeting, nodding his helm over at Wildrider.

Kass made a sound as if to reprimand him, but surprisingly, Arcee refocused on Sideswipe intently. Arcee rolled up, looking between Wildrider and then Sideswipe with a very calm expression.

And then she smiled sweetly at Sideswipe.

" _如果攪得你，側擊_ _，只是不聽他的_ ," she said, clasping a hand onto his arm, unable to properly reach his shoulders. She ignored his gaping expression. " _這_ _是我做什麼_."

On the crate, Barns burst out laughing, this time without restraint, and Wildrider howled similarly, falling over. Arcee was not one to tease others, but she did on occasion. Now that she and Wildrider were closer, it was clear he was influencing her even more. That was a good thing, Barns decided, trying to stop laughing as Sideswipe seethed.

"All of you are stupid!" he shouted.

" _Sé que usted es, pero ¿qué soy_?" Kass immediately shot back before dissolving into giggles again. Sam suddenly cracked up; he probably had taken Spanish in school before. Sideswipe yelled in frustration, which only made the others laugh more.

"We should take the time to learn more of Earth's languages," Optimus mused, sending Sideswipe a patient smile. "It would be beneficial for reaching out to others besides the Western societies."

"I'm stickin' to Cybertronians, I swear," Sideswipe grouched. He rolled off with a sour expression and left the rest of them chuckling at his expense.

Wildrider sat up properly and waved at the departing mech. Arcee sent him a dry look, but the others continued to be amused by the situation.

"As for you, Wildrider, I do believe you've corrupted one of my best lieutenants," Optimus said, laughter rumbling through his frame.

Wildrider bowed dramatically in a fashion stolen from Jazz. " _Я живу, чтобы_ _служить_ _, крупнейший_ _босс_!" he stated, gallant. Arcee shook her head and Kass rolled her eyes, though no one could understand what he had actually said. Optimus smiled regardless.

"It was a group effort," Arcee admitted. She glanced back at Barns, who waved back innocently.

Yes, it was. Learning each other's quirks and learning to play off each other in jokes or in serious situations had been a life-long education Barns wouldn't trade for the world. He flopped back onto the crate and stretched out.

"It's a beautiful day," he said, closing his eyes.

A chorus of _oui's_ , _si's_ and _da's_ made him grin against the sun.

 

**End** _**Language Barrier** _ **.**

**Next: Politics. Politics, everywhere.  
**

**  
**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  **Wildrider** : "You're not the ones working on this! I'm tired of this job. The government is so stupid and slow." "Who asked you, splitter?" "Oh, slag, they don't have words for it." "Brother-fragger." "I love this! Let's keep going!" And finally, "I live to serve, biggest boss!"  
>  **Barns** : "Oh, Sideswipe, you don't speak Russian? What about French? Wildrider speaks Russian very well. What other languages do you speak?" "Yes, it is a pity. Only Vortex and Bluestreak are monolingual. Even Rachel knows a little bit of French." "He got it from a file package before they landed. Perhaps you should download one, too."  
>  **Kass** : "I think he only understands English. What a pity!" "I know nearly five languages. I wanted to see if I could learn Russian at some point too, but maybe Wildrider could teach me." "I know you are, but what am I?"  
>  **Arcee** : "If it upsets you, Sideswipe, just don't listen to him. That's what I do."


	7. Politics (Post-Series)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Politics  
> ERA: Post-Apocalypse  
> RATING: K/G  
> CHARACTERS: original characters  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Okay. This will probably be incredibly boring to read compared to ordinary chapters. This is the political science student writer having WAAAY too much fun with politics in this universe. You have been warned. You may want to skip the chapter, even though it does prepare you for several future plot points to come (we need to cover some stuff here in order to get to some future events concerning the colony actually.) If you can tolerate political babbling, enjoy! :D
> 
> Good timing for us United States folks, huh? Thank you for the edits, Shantastic!
> 
> Overall Warnings: canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

_Washington, DC  
June 2010_

Senator Mark Taggart (KY-R) generally did not think of himself as a controversial man. He simply had a job that required him to speak out and act in the best interests of his constituents. An elected man, he had the obligation to do what was right, not what was easy.

Easy days were long forgotten dreams since the aliens had arrived. He and his fellow congressmen and women didn't have the luxury of standing on the sidelines gawking at the bewildering situation the world found itself in. No, they had to face the reality of the situation and make the tough decisions.

Times had changed, but the politics had not. They never would, he mused.

No one trusted anyone. There were verbal wars going on out on the senate floor. This session of Congress seemed normal to the rest of the country, but in this case, looks were deceiving. Even Taggart, a veteran when it came to legislative debates, found himself staggering out of his office in the late afternoon. Hours of argument over the most simplistic of legislative decisions (this time whether or not to allow the supposedly-friendly aliens to keep their weapons on or off during peace time) had left even his head spinning.

He needed a breath of fresh air and a decent meal at a restaurant he enjoyed just down Pennsylvania Avenue. Taggart couldn't talk to his wife about these things, since much of it was being discussed in closed session and hidden as carefully as possible from the mass media. The public had already panicked at seeing the Autobot creatures out in the open. They didn't need more panic over laws that didn't really concern them.

Still, despite wanting to leave it all behind him for the day, he had extended the dinner invitation to two of his fellow senators. They had varying opposing views on some things, but in the end, he knew their positions about the aliens matched his.

Mostly.

Across the room he saw his colleagues—Beatrice Kowalczyk (PA-D) and John Brown (MI-R)—enter the quiet restaurant. He waved them over; they were surprisingly late for the usually punctual Kowalczyk's habits, but he knew they probably had stopped to talk with their aides on the way out. It had been a busy day.

"Good afternoon, Bettie, John," he said, standing politely to shake their hands.

"Hello, Mark," Kowalczyk said. She gazed around the room and smiled contentedly. "This is just a lovely restaurant. I've passed it so many times without stopping."

Taggart smiled as they all sat down around the circular table. "Yes, one of my favorites. I thought we could all use a bit of refined taste after today."

A day of yelling and arguing on the floor was standard for their occupation, but today had been particularly strained when their guest speaker—the Director of National Intelligence—had driven the more conservative members of the Senate into hysterics. Again.

Kowalczyk made a face as she set her purse aside. "Ugh," she said with a shudder. "Don't get me wrong, and don't quote me, I appreciate the bi-partisanship concerning the Energon Refinement Act, but if I have to listen to that old man bring up 'good will' or Prime's speech again…"

"Good, I thought I was the only one," Taggart laughed dryly. He had already received his meal, but he would wait until the other two were served.

Brown was clearly disgruntled by the whole thing, probably more than the other two. "I don't get it. I mean, I suppose he is getting old, but the trust he has in the aliens and that rogue team, NEST, is just plain crazy talk."

"And the fact that half the room agrees with most of what he's saying unnerves me," Kowalczyk said.

"With what, the ERA?" he asked, referring to the Energon Refinement Act.

"You know my feelings about _that_ ," Brown replied, boisterous as always. His had been one of the voices yelling loudest that day, though he'd never admit it himself. "Giving the aliens first access to Earth's resources is only inviting them to put more pressure on us when it's time for us to get our share of the energy."

"I have mixed feelings," Taggart admitted, after flagging down the waiter finally. "The fact that their leader has come out and said that they need this energon-energy substance to physically _survive_ makes me uncomfortable. That gives them even more reason to fight for it."

After she placed her order and Brown finished his, Kowalczyk settled in with a sigh. "They're claiming it's a means to an end," she said. "With access to our sun's solar power, they'd be able to use less of this energon than what they're used to using."

"Solar power?" Taggart repeated, interested. He had thought the aliens could only use that energon stuff.

Kowalczyk shrugged. "I'm not sure of the details, the Autobot leader was rather vague and the reporter didn't ask very good questions, but the idea I got was that their home world had a much weaker star to orbit around, or something. Having a sun this size to harvest solar light from would be enough for their colony's machines, should it be built on Mars."

"Which is an excuse for them not going to Titan," Taggart added, thinking of Saturn's moon that could potentially hold an Autobot base as well. Still in the solar system, but further away. It was a possibility.

"They _should_ be going to Titan," Brown interrupted. "Pardon my bluntness, but can you give me a _good_ goddamn reason to believe that Mars is too far? It's too close. Far, far too close. These things can travel that distance in less than a day. Even a whole day's jump between Mars and Earth is far too close."

Kowalczyk sent him a wry smile. "The Director made a good point about that though, John. If the Decepticons return to Earth, we'll need close support."

"They claim they saved us and their enemies are dead or captured, and in the very next breath they say they're still a problem and we're still in danger!" Brown exclaimed. He waved his hand irritably. "Ah, I don't like it. I don't trust half of NEST's supposed leaders. The president is even on their side, claiming we need to give their leader more autonomy in these concerns, but how can we trust them?"

"It is problematic. I mean, I do like that Optimus fellow. He seems rational enough, but I see your point, John," Taggart replied. "How can we trust the Autobots, even if they did help us? They're not human. They're aliens. And no matter how cute or funny the things are on camera, or if they do save a city or two in supposed good will, we cannot forget their purpose."

"Which is?" Kowalczyk asked, arching an eyebrow.

Taggart sent her a strained look. "They're the survivors of a diaspora-inducing war, Bettie. You don't get more desperate and liable to lie than a group that literally is depending on our planet to keep their species alive," he said. He shook his head before going for another drink. "They have every reason to betray us, with very few reasons to be honest about their intentions."

Idealism didn't fix real life problems—and desperate aliens were a real problem. Even if Keller was blindly trusting, and the president blindly optimistic… they had to expect the worst. If they didn't, the consequences would be on their heads.

"Hmm, you have a point," Kowalczyk replied, picking at the salad the waiter had just put in front of her before moving on to give Brown his steak and wine.

"We're supposed to vote on the ERA in what, six weeks?" Brown asked suddenly, once the waiter left. "That's enough time for nothing concrete to be decided, and for Keller to keep spinning talk about how we owe the sons of bitches for blowing up Los Angeles." He scowled. " _And_ Mission City."

"One could argue that's all part of war, but we can't forget it, I agree," Taggart replied, sighing. "I heard talk of a citizenship bill."

"What?" Kowalczyk asked, confused as she looked over at him.

Scowling, Taggart explained. "The immigration committee— _Johnson's_ doing, as expected—was working with Keller to have some sort of alien immigration policy that would let any alien become a US citizen."

"No!" Kowalczyk gasped, scandalized. Brown almost choked on his wine.

Taggart held his hand up to ward off their reactions. "Yes. I have no idea what the bill will say, but I am thoroughly on guard."

He did not like what this boded. The whole mess of having a giant alien robot becoming a citizen—protected by the Bill of Rights, including the right to hold _weapons_ —it was too much to deal with right now. Once the public got a whiff of it, the media would cause a riot.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with alien robots as naturalized citizens?!" Brown sputtered, angered. "They can't work, they can't vote—maybe we can use them in the army, but they won't share their technology with us! That is utterly ridiculous!"

"Being citizens would make it more difficult to obtain their technology. They could file for patents and copyrights…" Kowalczyk said. She shrugged and returned to her salad. "Then again, a bill like that would never pass if we don't include the option to force them to give up their weapons as citizens. Ordinary citizens can't be allowed to have plasma grenades, after all."

There was always that, but Taggart knew the Autobots were very wary of losing control of their military weapons. He was confident it was only a matter of time before the shifting of political party control would pressure them into giving it up, but they were being remarkably stubborn. The average American would be content with their scientific and medical technology, but they didn't _understand_ how this would help their country.

Brown was still incensed. "After all that work trying to make sure we don't go after their military technology, they're making it easier to grab after all. Idiots."

"You _know_ Keller's going to insist a hands-off policy for the weapons," Kowalczyk said, lips tucked down in a severe frown.

"And then the bill dies in subcommittee," Brown replied sharply. "These aliens like to think they're smarter, but they don't get the system. It's built to make sure our country receives the benefits, not our allies nor our enemies." He took a vicious bite of his steak before adding, "The country comes first, and what's best for it is what we go with."

Kowalczyk made a face, leaning forward a little. "Russia's trying to win them over fastest. Putin made that speech last night praising their actions in Asia—"

"Oh, yeah, I heard that," Brown murmured.

"—and then of course Sarkozy made a huge show about how we should be welcoming the Autobots with open arms." Kowalczyk sighed and shook her head disapprovingly. "The more pomp they put on about allowing the Autobots to just come on down to live with them, the more pressure we get to compromise as well."

Brown motioned with his fork. "But that's the defining factor, isn't it? America has more of the power the Autobots know they should be siding with. That's why they landed here first, isn't it?" he said. "We have NASA, plus some huge deposit sites up in Alaska for their energon things, plus our army. They know they have to play nice with us, whether or not Putin offers them free room and board."

"I'm worried about Australia personally," Kowalczyk said, which didn't surprise Taggart much. Australia had huge supplies of the energon. "Haven't heard much from them or Great Britain's other kids, but even since Prime Minister Brown did that interview with the Autobot strategist—you know, the smart one—I had this feeling they'd offer the same. Then we might have some pressure for real."

Tsking, Taggart tried to focus on the positives. "Look, we have the bodies, we have the Autobots residing on American soil. We still have the ball. We should be focusing on keeping the ball in our court, sure, but right now, it's a matter of making sure the rules are still _our_ rules," he said, holding his hands up. "The aliens are unwelcome guests and they know it. They're going to bend to our rules no matter what."

"True. If they're smart, they will," Brown said with a finality that Taggart couldn't disagree with. It was the only sane, logical path to follow. Surely the robots would see that, too.

"You're forgetting one thing, senators."

Taggart froze when he saw a wall of brown appear next to him. Looking up, he saw an unfamiliar man in a suit smiling down at their table, at ease with disrupting their conversation.

"You are…?" Taggart asked, unsure if he knew the man. He certainly wasn't a member of the senate. The House…?

"A fellow panderer of words, though I will admit I answer to a rather unsightly government personality named Galloway," the man replied, unperturbed when Brown sent him a dirty look. Taggart was convinced this man was not a politician, but clearly in a government position. "Needed to stop in to see the higher ups in town, so that's what I'm over here instead of with you, ah, robot problems."

Kowalczyk was the quickest. "You work for NEST?" she asked, surprised.

"Only in spirit," the stranger replied, irritatingly amused. "At any rate, I gotta let you guys know that you're a tad unprepared for this _coup_ you wanna throw at those robots."

Taggart frowned deeply. "Oh?" he asked, icily.

The stranger bobbed his head. "They're smart. Pretty darn smart, actually. They know that humans're a bunch of liars and scoundrels, living in a country run by liars and scoundrels just like you, so don't expect any of those aliens to fall for us trying to pull the wool over their eyes." He paused and shrugged. "Light bulbs. Whatever."

"Our interests are the interests of the nation," Brown began, face reddened.

"Oh, I'll bet," the stranger interrupted with a smirk. "Just keep that in mind when you're trying to trick our benefactors into giving up their livelihood." He winked. "Just a thought."

He swooped down and picked up the hard boiled egg Kowalczyk hadn't eaten.

"Have a wonderful day, senators," the stranger said with a beaming smile, taking a bite out of the egg. "It's just beautiful outside today."

He left them at the table, which fell into an uncomfortable silence as his happy whistling faded into the background. Kowalczyk looked over at Brown and Taggart, but Taggart averted his eyes.

Taking a long sip of his coffee, he did his best to drop the topic until the unexpected cloud of dread went away.

  
**End** _**Politics** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, we get to see some porn. NO, REALLY. :D
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -"Constituents" is a fancy term for "people that you represent" as an elected politician, be it from your state, county, or even the whole country in American politics.  
> -"Dies in subcommittee" – Let me give you a brief synopsis of American congressional system in case you are unfamiliar with it: subcommittees in the House of Representatives are assigned topics (i.e. agriculture). Subcommittee makes a bill. They submit the bill. It gets denied ("dies in subcommittee"), or it gets passed onto a bigger committee. If it doesn't die there, it goes to the floor of the Senate to be decided on (aka debated until it eventually dies, or it sends Congress into a coma). If the bill is lucky, it gets to live to another day and is made law by the executive branch (aka the President). Welcome to American politics: the land of the free, the land of an asinine government system that is too busy chasing it's own tail to actually get things done.  
> -"We have the bodies" – Another chapter to come. ;)  
> -Basically, my dad is pretty cool with nerd stuff and all of the politicians' negatives about the Autobots came from him while we discussed the socio-political impact of realistic alien relations in American politics. POLITICS IS FUN, GUYS.  
> -That NEST agent is a new OC who will reappear later. He's pretty cool, yo.  
> -These politicians will also be back later.


	8. Three's Company (Post-Series)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse into the building of Jazz, Thundercracker and Prowl's odd little trine. The first section was a Christmas gift to my wonderful beta, Shantastic, who worked her butt off making Fallout and Fallout: Apocalypse as great as it was with her editing and researching! I can't begin to thank you enough, dear, especially considering you were the one who convinced me to add this pairing! :)
> 
> **This is an un'beta'd chapter as of November 29, 2012.**
> 
> TITLE: Three's Company  
> ERA: Post-Series (post-Apocalypse)  
> RATING: PG-13  
> CHARACTERS: Jazz, Thundercracker, Prowl (background ensemble)  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: mech on mech slash, plug an' play
> 
> Overall Warnings: canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling stories.

_**Thundercacker** _

Living in a shuttle was better than anything else Earth had granted them so far. Sure, it wasn't huge, and eventually they'd have to finish off the addition that would connect the half-submerged _Ark_ and the in-progress hangar part that would give them more space to branch out, but it was better than a forest. Or the old Plumas base hangars, which had been "home" for too long in Thundercracker's opinion.

He was surprised they had as many rooms as they did. Only the "Green Card" mechs got their own cabins, leaving the influx of mechs coming from and going to the colony to recharge in the common areas. Thundercracker was still getting used to the concept of having a real "room" again to call his own, especially with two other mechs again. It was… comforting.

He wasn't the only one to share space, either. Vortex and Rachel had their own room (though that had been amusing for Rachel to "convince" Jazz to let the arrangement happen). Kass and Bluestreak had their own room, though it was clear in time that the British woman might actually move in with Miles, wherever that would take them. Arcee and Wildrider were finally getting around to moving in together, though some nights Wildrider still stayed with Barns and Danny in their own room (a converted storage unit, because honestly, two organics would just get lost in a full size Cybertronian cabin).

Thundercracker had been amused when Prowl told him and Jazz that they'd be sharing the commander's room. That would have been reserved for Prime normally, but Optimus had genially declined the offer to leave the room open for his frequent visits.

"You need it more for yourselves," the Prime said, bemused as he nodded at the odd trine before him.

They did, with Thundercracker's natural size dwarfing most of the other grounders on base, plus the fact there were three of them to share the space. A berth could easily be adjusted to fit them, but having a large living space was almost a necessity.

Living together had been… interesting. Thundercracker knew they were breaking rules of trine formation right away by moving in (Rachel had cheerfully called them "tramps" for a whole week after they made plans for this), but they didn't have a lot of choice. The lack of rooms plus the awkwardness of having a bonded pair attempting to bring in a third called for an odd arrangement anyway. Thundercracker didn't mind recharging next to the polite and proper tactician in the beginning. Prowl had respectfully kept his distance and their work schedules caused them to have odd recharge times, so they didn't often have to go to sleep near one another anyway.

However… Thundercracker knew it was just a matter of time. He didn't mind it in the least. Jazz had always been there as the guiding force in their physical relationship with Prowl, taking it slowly, but then again, the saboteur wasn't known for his patience. The first time he had cornered Prowl (almost literally) on the berth, Prowl had practically had a processor crash, panicking because _Thundercracker was right there_.

Convincing the tactician that it was okay, since they were trying to form a trine anyway by the end of this courting, was a challenge. Prowl was _incredibly_ respectful of Thundercracker and Jazz's existing relationship. It was almost disappointing that Prowl was so wary about intruding, when they had been attempting to welcome him in gradually.

Still, they had "rules," unspoken as they were. They interfaced together as a trine, or when it was just Thundercracker and Jazz. Prowl almost never instigated any of the sessions either, which sort of bothered Thundercracker after awhile. He knew that Prowl's paranoia of overstepping his bounds was the cause of his shyness in this area of their relationship, but it was still annoying.

Things were improving, though. Prowl was just fine embracing Thundercracker now on his own impulses, or instigating small touches in public, which were always rare because of how proper the Praxian was just by default. Thundercracker had no qualms about getting close with the black-and-white mech, who was pretty damn arousing and also intellectually stimulating off the berth, too.

So when the evening came where Jazz was busier than normal and Thundercracker found himself alone with Prowl in their shared quarters, it wasn't _entirely_ awkward. Just… a little. Prowl wasn't exactly ready to recharge either. He was glued to his desk at the far corner of the large room, back to the alcove where the berth was. Normally the tactician would have an office to work in, but since they were living in a shuttle, space was tight.

Thundercracker thus found himself sitting on the edge of the berth, watching Prowl go through datapad after datapad of colony resource information that he'd decipher and then hand off to the humans.

"You should come to bed," Thundercracker said, breaking the silence suddenly.

To his credit, Prowl barely flinched. "I've nearly completed my work," he said, calm. His doorwings didn't even move.

"It's almost midnight," Thundercracker pointed out, frowning more. He knew Prowl had been up since five that morning with only about two joors of rest previous.

Prowl did the sort-of-shrug most mechs had adopted since coming to Earth. "It needs to be done."

Thundercracker appreciated Prowl for his bluntness. After spending almost his entire lifetime dealing with Skywarp's rambling and more recently Jazz's habit of dragging things out to almost painful levels, having a sensible mate was a relief.

That said, his briskness was also one of the most irritating quirks Prowl had. Thundercracker glowered as he watched the other mech work, apparently having dismissed the jet and put his full attention back into his work. Sure, the Praxian had an important job and Thundercracker would never purposely try to ruin his efforts. But Prowl had a habit that surpassed the danger of any of Jazz's many bad habits.

Taking Jazz aside one day after weeks of observation, Thundercracker had to ask his bondmate. _::Has he ever actually worked into stasis?::_ he inquired, hoping that the tactician, who was then also focused on his work, wouldn't know they were talking like that behind his back.

Jazz had sighed and smiled wistfully. _::Yep,::_ he replied. At the jet's nonplussed expression, the saboteur held his claws up in submission. _::I kid you not! Ask Ratchet. Prowl legit overworks, an' it can get bad fer his health if people don't nag him into stasis first.::_

At first, Thundercracker had hoped Jazz was joking. But after witnessing Prowl go literally three days without recharge before (two was pushing it for a large model like the jet), Thundercracker realized that yes, even Prowl had habits that would undoubtedly make the Seeker want to punch holes in the wall. He _hated_ worrying for others when it could easily be avoided. It wasn't a good work ethic; it was pure stupidity.

Why the Praxian would put himself into a dangerous situation like stasis lock over datapads was unfathomable to Thundercracker. Surely, as a commander of the Autobot army, Prowl had the commonsense to put his wellbeing first in some cases? Apparently, Prowl was just stubborn. And unfortunately for their makeshift trine, all _three_ of its members were stubborn as hell.

"You're going to damage your processors if you go into emergency stasis," Thundercracker tried to reason. He frowned more at the annoyed twitch of Prowl's right doorwing. The Praxian body language was still new to him, but he was learning. "We might have the occasional Decepticon stumble into our laps, but the war is over, in case you didn't notice."

"Who said this was for Decepticons?" Prowl shot back, doorwings twitching again. Thndercracker watched them, momentarily distracted. "Congress will be deciding on yet _another_ bill concerning further energon shipments to the colony, and I need to get all the proper intelligence on our current intake levels to the Director to make sure they have all of the facts straight."

"Impractical fools," Thundercracker muttered. It was such a headache, trying to work with the humans even now.

Prowl shrugged again. "American politics."

With that, silence fell over the room again. Thundercracker scowled and tried to think of what exactly he could do. He could just recharge or lay down alone until Jazz came back. Jazz had more practice and more tricks up his sleeve to lure Prowl away from his work. Thundercracker wasn't big on manipulating someone to recharge, honestly. It was ridiculous.

Leaving Prowl to his ill-inducing work was tempting. It would serve the Praxian right to have to be hauled into Ratchet for treatment if he insisted on acting foolishly.

That was easier to contemplate than actually witness. Thundercracker withheld a shiver when he recalled one of Prowl's more recent glitches. He had rarely seen Decepticons with such malfunctions, well, considering most glitched mechs would simply be shot instead of put up with. It was frightening to observe, mostly because Thundercracker could do nothing to stop it or fix it. It would be one thing if it was someone else, but…

Prowl was beginning to matter. Which was why this was a problem.

Thundercracker growled lowly at the tactician's back. Prowl didn't even so much as twitch a doorwing in response, thoroughly ignoring him.

He was used to irritating mechs. He was bonded to probably the king of tricksters. He had put up with Wildrider's antics, Vortex's temper tantrums, Arcee's thick-headedness, and a whole wide array of aggravating emotions from the organics, including raising Rachel through her turbulent teenage years.

What he wasn't used to—and what he didn't like—was being ignored. Even before he wound up in their group of eleven survivors, Thundercracker had been part of a trine, which functioned similarly to a gestalt. In both partnerships, the members were incapable of ignoring each other, for practical reasons as well as survival ones.

Prowl might not have been bonded to them, yet, but Thundercracker was suddenly not in the mood to be ignored.

Slowly, Thundercracker stood up and moved closer to the other mech, who didn't pay him any heed. He had a plan, and he wasn't sure if this would end well, but perhaps it was about time he let Prowl know just what he thought of his _work ethic_.

_::How torqued would Prowl be if I dragged him to berth right now?::_ Thundercracker asked his mate over the comm..

Jazz immediately sent back a mix of amused concern over the bond. _::Uhhh, ya can do that better than I ever could, I'd imagine, but don't be surprised if he whips around an' kicks yer aft.::_

Unlikely, considering how Thundercracker planned on doing this. He raised his hands cautiously in the air, optics on the enticing miniature wings poised on Prowl's back. They probably sensed him moving, as they were highly powerful sensory panels, but Prowl probably was not expecting the "calm" one in their trio to act out like this. Still, Thundercracker had a moment of doubt.

_::I don't_ think _he'll kill you,::_ Jazz offered sweetly.

_::If he does, I blame you.::_

_::Yer th' one with th' death wish, darlin'.::_

Biting the metaphorical bullet, Thundercracker threw caution to the wind—and grabbed both hands around either side of Prowl's doorwings. He was almost able to go all the way around with his closed hands on the furthest edges of the panels.

"What are you— _TC_!" Prowl exclaimed, practically jolting out of his seat at the contact. He scrambled graceless in his seat to try to pry away from Thundercracker's hands, which was ineffectual. Thundercracker only had to lift his hands, still wrapped on the edges of his doorwings, and Prowl had no choice by to go up with them.

He knew Jazz targeted Prowl's doorwings often in play, but Thundercracker doubted the saboteur could ever use them to maneuver the slightly-larger Prowl physically. Thundercracker, being the largest of the three, had no trouble using the sensitive appendages to his advantage.

Prowl, of course, was Not Amused. "TC!" he shouted again, though not in panic. It was more out of irritation and, to the jet's amusement, embarrassment. The tactician furiously tried to dislodge Thundercracker's hands without pulling on the doorwings any further, but Prowl was no more flexible than the rest of the mechs.

"You're coming to bed, now," Thundercracker said, gently and slowly pulling Prowl out of the chair via the doorwings, though he left literally no wriggle room.

This might have been overstepping his bounds, but it was almost laughter worthy to watch Prowl promptly throw a fit as he was guided forcefully away from his desk. Despite having less mass to throw around than the jet, Prowl was a master of circuit su and could bend far better than Thundercracker had expected. He ducked low enough that Thundercracker almost had to release the mech in fear that he might actually pull the doorwings ajar. One doorwing slipped out of his grasp, going flat against Prowl's armor and remained ungraspable.

The remaining doorwing was still his hold and he wasn't going to let go easy. Thundercracker easily grabbed Prowl under the bumper with his freed arm before he could twist away further. The Praxian snarled loudly, but didn't shout out for help or to tell Thundercracker to stop, so the jet took that as a positive sign (sort of) that Prowl wasn't seeing Thundercracker as a real threat. Just an annoyance.

Good.

"I need to finish!" Prowl complained, never going to a full shout as Thundercracker wordlessly manhandled him to the berth. "Thundercracker, I understand your concern, but this is entirely unnecessary. I will only spend a few more joors on this project as it is, but—"

The one thing Jazz had learned when Thundercracker had reached the end of his patience early on was that there was no negotiating. Rachel had learned that too, as had all the younglings under Thundercracker's watch, because when the jet put his foot down, he meant it. Prowl's indignant squawk was cut off with static when Thundercracker ignored his complaints and threw him as gently as he could onto the berth.

The moment he hit the berth, however, he was already up. Thundercracker had to lunge and grapple the mech back down. He hated having to use his actual weight to pin the other mech, because that might have been going too far after all, but Thundercracker didn't have a choice but to wrap his one leg over the back of Prowl's to hold him down. The tactician responded by furiously trying to shove Thundercracker back off of him, and when that was an obvious failure, Prowl proceeded to try to squirm his way out from underneath him with whatever room he had available.

_Primus_ , Thundercracker thought, torn between feeling angry and terribly amused, _he's like a fish._

Not that he would ever, _ever_ tell Prowl that (or Primus-forbid Jazz), but the whole situation was becoming hysterical to the jet. Prowl was still decidedly not amused, of course, and struggled to get out from under the Seeker. His doorwings were up again, pressing uselessly again Thundercracker's canopy.

"TC, I am going to—!" Prowl began with a snarl, after several moments of trying to lift himself off the berth and failing.

Thundercracker snorted. "Send me to the brig?" He couldn't imagine Prowl ever taking this outside of the room, however.

"We don't have a brig!" Prowl hissed, almost getting his one arm free.

A consistent problem for Autobots. This time it was because they turned the one-room brig on the shuttle into a storage room for the building supplies, and the one on base had been demolished to make room for the _Ark_. Thundercracker rumbled in amusement, at least until a doorwing panel successfully slapped him in the face. Ouch.

The struggle continued for a few more breems, until Thundercracker was certain Prowl was nearly exhausted from the effort. The lack of recharge probably helped, ironically. Frustration rolled off the Praxian's electro-magnetic field like water, but Thundercracker smirked as he reveled in his victory.

"Should have just gone to bed," he pointed out.

Prowl only growled and flicked his doorwings, the only real movement he could muster. Thundercracker was prepared to settle down for recharge, knowing the mech beneath him would probably fall into 'charge before the jet ever did, but something stopped him from trying to find a position where they could both sleep comfortably.

Thundercracker peered down at the smaller mech, who had stopped writhing long enough to expel a furious amount of heated air out of his exposed vents. The Praxian's doorwings trembled and Thundercracker was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to run his hands over them, the heated frame beneath him not helping.

_::You alive?::_ Jazz asked abruptly.

One more twitch of the doorwings and Thundercracker was thoroughly disinterested in anything else.

_::Don't talk to me, I'm busy,::_ Thundercracker told him before disregarding the link and he set to work.

Thundercracker rose slightly to rest on his knees, knowing he had to avoid letting his full weight fall onto the smaller mech. Prowl was still caged in and didn't seem to have noticed the jet shifting.

He didn't notice until Thundercracker gently cupped his hands under the uplifted doorwings and extended his electro-magnetic field. Prowl made a gasping sound and the doorwings almost shot back down in reflex, but the dark hands beneath them stopped the motion. Thundercracker encouragingly stroked the sensitive seams on each door panel's underside, sending Prowl's steadfast irritation out the window only to replace it with the tactician writhing beneath him for entirely different reasons.

While nothing compared to merging his spark into Jazz's own, tactile and interfacing were just as enjoyable. Thundercracker had always let Jazz take the lead with getting Prowl into berth, but he had touched the stoic black-and-white mech enough to know just what to get him revved up. The doorwings gave him an edge on the field of battle, but were easy targets for a teasing lover.

Prowl, for all of his mannerly behavior, fell apart just like any other Praxian when someone touched his doorwings. He scrambled underneath the jet, clawing at the berth, emitting gasps as his EM field flared upwards. At first Thundercracker read the sensations bouncing back at him as _good_ and _arousal_.

But the whine that came from Prowl's vocalizer made Thundercracker freeze and partially withdraw his hand.

"Do you want me to stop?" Thundercracker asked quietly, now tense. Prowl was far less vocal than Jazz was naturally, but Thundercracker did not want to press his luck on the off chance that Prowl was simply not rejecting him because of his damn insistence on "playing nice" with everyone.

Prowl struggled for a moment to use his vocalizer, but when he did, Thundercracker could hear heated desire, not fear. "N-no," he replied. "But let me turn over. I want to—"

He tried to grab at Thundercracker's arm, clearly intending to reciprocate with a caress. Thundercracker smirked and leaned closer as he let his hands wander back over the door panels.

"And lose access to this?" Thundercracker demanded, making smaller grounder hiss in pleasure once the jet got his EM field buzzing again with careful sweeps. Every move sent the tactician shuddering anew. "See? Letting go of control isn't so bad, Prowl."

He ran his hand to the edge of the one wing before grabbing the point in a feather-like caress. Prowl gasped and his optics offlined, though his systems were still rumbling furiously. Thundercracker ran his other hand over the overheated vents on his sides, enjoying how the black-and-white mech seemed to be holding back very improper noises in his vocalizer.

"I can stop," he said, still gently moving his hands through the electro-magnetic field over the tactician's back again. "Just say it." Oh, he hoped he wouldn't, though.

In the middle of nearly pressing dents into the berth because he was gripping it so hard, Prowl managed to speak up. "Thundercracker?" he began, voice full of static.

Thundercracker slowly stopped running his hands under the doorwings. "Yeah?"

" _Shut the frag up_."

Okay, then. Thundercracker bent lower to run his hands all the way down Prowl's sides, ducking low past his chassis. The smaller mech bucked, pressing back up into Thundercracker's canopy, doorwings going flat.

Then all at once, Prowl flipped over, using that as a distraction. The loss of access to the doorwings made Thundercracker growl, but Prowl amended that quickly by reaching up and drawing the taller mech closer. He braced his long white legs to Thundercracker's sides, engine rumbling even louder than the jet's.

Out of no where, Prowl's EM field surged, slamming into Thundercracker's like a tidal wave. Pleasure and lust danced in a flurry of electrical shocks, sinking into his joints and wiring under armor. Groaning, Thundercracker almost collapsed; locking his knees was probably the only way to make sure he didn't accidentally crush the tactician, who continued to wreak havoc with almost sadistic intent with his EM field. No wonder Jazz had sworn Prowl was good in berth.

_Primus_ , he was enjoying this. He had Jazz for sure in all ways, but having Prowl hold back in their physical relationship so often was more a curse than a blessing anymore. To have the tactician be so bold and willing was a relief. The hesitance was completely gone in the grounder now. Prowl's hands skillfully went for the most delicate seams and Thundercracker growled in pleasure when Prowl dug into the base of the wings behind his chassis.

They didn't need every member in a trine to be there to reaffirm the affections between two. That was what made the trines what they were, made them so alien to the humans. For their imperfect, odd threesome, Prowl needed to understand as well.

And now, even if the Praxian was still having his own insecurities over the whole thing, he apparently didn't mind it now. Thundercracker could barely keep up his own touching and EM field teasing while Prowl reciprocated with a ferocity that his usual stoic demeanor drastically obscured.

Thundercracker wanted to link, _now_. He grappled with his own interface panel, yanking out the cord as he pressed back on Prowl's intimidating EM field assault. Prowl let him reach for his own interface equipment, whining in open wantonness as the jet leaned forward on the grounder's chassis, using the reverberations of their engines to add to the sensation of their heated frames.

Whatever the frag Prowl was doing with his electro-magnetic field was driving Thundercracker's entire sensor relays crazy. He could barely keep the power to his optics flowing correctly, let alone his hands. Prowl had to take the interface cables from his hands and quickly connected.

Instantly, Thundercracker was met with one of the fiercest and strongest firewalls he had _ever_ encountered in his lifetime. He gasped, either physically or in his mind, as he tried to backpedal away from the firewall that seemed by all counts impossible to penetrate. He had no doubts such a defense could pummel his own mind flat if he tried to brush up against it.

A powerful wave of _apologies_ and _it's unavoidable_ swept past his processor, however, and halted his retreat from the alien mind. The firewall disappeared almost like a fog and Thundercracker was suddenly looking into the depths of a dark, warm mind that belonged to the most valuable strategist in the Autobot army. Fifty years ago, being in that mind would have been a tactical miracle. But he wasn't there for war. Far from it.

Prowl suddenly grabbed at Thundercracker's shoulders, a faint sound dragging him further from the link suddenly. A laugh, at him.

_Shut up_ , Thundercracker thought, or maybe he spoke. He was a bit distracted when his processors were suddenly swept up in a new torrent of sensation outside his frame. Prowl had a strong mind—stronger than Jazz's. It was like diving into cold, dark water that reached every sensitive piece of wiring under plating. But it was clear; this new field was coherent in a way Skywarp's had never been. It was a black torrent of clear, controlled emotion and thought—so innately _Prowl_ that it was startling.

In the midst of the chaos of their minds meshing, sending pleasurable waves of feedback over the link, Thundercracker found what he had expected. Deeply woven in between Prowl's thoughts of domestic affection and current lustful pleasure was a dark emotion Thundercracker was certain the Praxian had attempt to hide and failed: _doubt_.

There was doubt—but not of Thundercracker, nor Jazz. There was no doubt in Prowl's devotion to the trine. An _absoluteness_ shone through most brightly, stunning Thundercracker through the onslaught of emotions. Prowl felt for him, for Jazz, strongly enough that he was _afraid_.

Afraid of ruining this, afraid of pushing them away. They didn't need him. They were better off already bonded, without memories of another love dragging them down. They already had perfection, safe arms, peace, love—

_**Wrong**_. Thundercracker pushed back against that horrible doubt with his own truth. He showed the tactician what he thought of him, with all of his intellect, his gentle humor, respect and understanding. His _sacrifices_. Thundercracker could never forget just what Prowl had to fight—the illusion of Jazz being the one he lost—in order to accept their bonding, even before their agreement to form a trine. This was not about getting Jazz back for Prowl; this was about starting over after one horrible loss after another.

This was not rebuilding what was lost. This was about making something new.

Prowl keened, a sound only inside their connected minds, and latched onto Thundercracker's presence. Sensation blurred between the roaming hands on his chassis and the purity of emotions that shot back and forth over the link. Every wave crisscrossed, playing with their firewalls, causing what felt like every wire to ignite into fervent sparks.

Systems taxed, Thundercracker let go, free falling through overload, dragging Prowl with him. The roar of electricity surging throughout their frames overtook the sound of their throbbing engines.

When his optics rerouted power and he was able to focus, Thundercracker was grateful he had locked his knees before losing control and falling forward completely. Prowl was still pinning his legs to his sides, frame heaving and gasping before he slid down and the absence of the other metal body left freezing cold patches on Thundercracker's armor.

The interface disconnected and Thundercracker growled lowly at the loss of connection. Prowl let go of the cables to run a soothing hand down his canopy. Excess electrical discharge rolled off Thundercracker's frame and with a quiet groan, he shifted. His hands found his overheated partner's arms. Prowl let his own hands rest of the jet's chassis before settling beneath him with a peaceful smile on his faceplates.

Thundercracker's systems rumbled lowly as he pressed his face into the Praxian's shoulder. Prowl made a pleased sound and rested his hands on the back of Thundercracker's helm. This had been an incredibly good idea—

"Primus _almighty_."

The voice startled them both. At the newly-closed door, Jazz stared at the two entwined mechs. For a split second, Thundercracker was confused at the hurt expression on his bondmate's face. Jazz couldn't have been upset that he had just interfaced with their supposed-third member—?

"You didn't _WAIT_ fer me? !" Jazz cried, his outward childish disappointment barely overtaking the sense of _triumph_ filtering through the bond.

Thundercracker glared at the silver mech and Prowl, who wasn't aware of the _glee_ in the bond, nervously tried to make himself smaller under Thundercracker. Obviously, Jazz was far from upset that the two other mechs had taken a step forward in their relationship without Jazz having to instigate it.

Prowl opened his mouth to undoubtedly apologize, but Thundercracker growled and stopped the mech from speaking with a hand over his mouth.

"Don't you dare apologize," he said, ignoring Prowl's confusion. Instead of dragging it out, Thundercracker simply shifted, pulling the speechless tactician under him to a more comfortable position and offline his optics. "Good night."

At that, real shock came from Jazz as he sputtered. "Wait, seriously, yer going t' leave me with a show like that an' not let me continue? !" he exclaimed.

To answer him, Thundercracker sent a command to turn off the room lights and was smug against Jazz's half-sparked seething.

What made it even better was a soft chuckle from Prowl.

They'd be all right, Thundercracker concluded.

…Granted that he found a way to get rid of Prowl's desk. Maybe he could convince Wildrider to do some "redecorating" later with it.

Jazz's laugh answered him, and for the first time in a long time, Thundercracker recharged in content peace with reassurance from _two_ instead of just one.

They would definitely be all right.

**0000**

_**Prowl** _

If there was one warning Jazz had given him at the very start that Prowl had almost disregarded entirely, it had been this one. Prowl would never ignore a warning from Jazz over anything, especially about their relationship, but this one had seemed almost inconsequential.

"We aren't just _Jazz an' TC_ , you gotta understand," Jazz had told him with an odd amount of seriousness attached to his words. "We're a ten-part package deal, an' we don't ever forget it."

A "ten-part" deal was a referenced to the ten survivors as a whole. Prowl had understood the concept perfectly; Jazz and Thundercracker were the leaders of the group and preferred to think of their unit as one would a gestalt. They were welcoming Prowl in, but had made sure he understood that with Jazz and Thundercracker came, well, everyone else.

On different levels, of course. There was the first hurdle to cross, a seemingly impossible one named Rachel Cooper. While Prowl was vaguely certain he had earned a little bit of respect and appreciation from the notoriously aggressive human, he knew that she was still wary of him. Jazz had assured him that Rachel just took time to warm up to strangers and that he was doing a good job keeping a good distance for now, which only helped Rachel more in deciding whether or not she liked Prowl.

She was more than just Thundercracker and Jazz's ward, too. That was always confusing to fathom when she called them "father" or some equivalent. Surely Rachel knew that she wasn't literally their kin. Not to mention the fact that the Cybertronian equivalent of "child", or creation, was not the same for both species. Her affection for Jazz and Thundercracker was overwhelming at first for Prowl to understand, especially when they seemed to encourage it and reciprocated it in equal amounts.

Thundercracker had become very defensive when Prowl mentioned his confusion, but thankfully Jazz intervened for Prowl's apparent faux pas.

"It's different fer humans," Jazz told him. "She looks at us like her real parents, an' heck, I'm pretty sure I look at her like a _daughter_ in a human sense. Earth does that t'ya, mech. It changes how ya look at th' world."

In time, Prowl thought he understood what a parent was compared to a simple creator in Cybertronian sense. They were closer, more emotional, and far more protective. If Rachel had been a Cybertronian and literally Thundercracker and Jazz's creation, she would not be this dependent on them being around at this point in her lifespan. But things were different from the human perspective and Prowl finally nailed down the comprehension that this two-way devotion was, well, permanent and not up for discussion.

That of course left Prowl in an awkward position of "step-father" though he was still baffled by that concept. Weren't Jazz and Thundercracker already to be considered in that role? It added to Rachel's distrust of Prowl being around, but Jazz comforted him every time the Praxian was forced to back down after Rachel acted out against his presence. It would take time. Prowl could handle that.

But… Rachel wasn't the only thing in the "package" of this relationship.

The humans were very accepting. Kass was always respectful and understanding of mech relations, even if she was just as wary as the rest when she realized Jazz would be involved with Prowl—again. She came forward in private to Prowl, however, and told him that she felt that it would be a good move for them anyway, and that she supported their efforts, no matter what happened. Prowl thanked her for that.

Barns was a frequent face for Prowl among the civilians, considering how involved he had become with various projects for the Autobots, so the human was all too ready to accept Prowl as "one of the family." His welcome was appreciated as well. Danny, true to the nature Prowl had come to expect from the hyper organic, was all too willing to accept Prowl as well.

"The more the merrier!" she said brightly, before trying to get Prowl to join them in a card game he declined; he wasn't quite ready for a competitive game between members like Vortex and Wildrider, honestly. Besides, human games were dreadfully boring to him.

Vortex was indifferent to the situation, as expected, but he did seem uncomfortable at first with Prowl being around more often. He seemed to get over it fairly quickly, which might have been a result of his own odd relationship with Rachel. Similarly, Arcee was a quiet observer who respectfully acknowledged the trine without intervening. Prowl felt he had her acceptance regardless, which was an odd relief.

Those were the easy ones. Besides Rachel, there was only one other member of their group that Prowl felt as though he had to work to gain acceptance from.

Wildrider was a fascinating case, for all sorts of reasons. His previous experience with his old Gestalt team had left him with an understandable desire to rebuild his team within this new group. He saw them as a gestalt more than any of the others did, and referred to them as a gestalt as well.

He was also oddly protective of Jazz, which neither Jazz or Thundercracker ever seemed to acknowledge. Prowl said nothing, but he clearly picked up on how Wildrider distrusted his involvement with Jazz. The sports car would visibly grow defensive whenever Prowl was around their group and next to Jazz. He wouldn't act that way when he was near Thundercracker either; just Jazz.

At first, Prowl presumed it was based on a wariness Wildrider might have over Prowl harming Jazz emotionally after the "other Prowl" had been a source of despair for Jazz all those years ago. That would be logical, if not misguided.

But then one day, Prowl learned a valuable lesson: Wildrider was not a logical being.

"You needn't worry about me hurting Jazz by leaving him unexpectedly," Prowl announced spontaneously when he found himself walking a similar path with Wildrider. They weren't alone and the other mech had not spared Prowl much attention when he approached.

Wildrider sent him an odd look. "Vhat?" he demanded, startled by the question.

"I have noticed your defensiveness whenever I am around Jazz," Prowl explained, trying to keep the conversation as neutral as possible since he couldn't trust Wildrider's mood not to go in a dangerous direction. "I could only presume that you are wary of our relationship specifically, unless I have missed something concerning your reaction to myself and Thundercracker together as well."

Slowing, Wildrider seemed at a loss at what Prowl was saying. Prowl was about to reiterate his explanation once more before dropping it, but abruptly, Wildrider seemed to understand.

"I do not vorry about _that_!" he exclaimed. He laughed harshly and waved his hand. "Just don't die, then no vorries."

Prowl stared at him, uncertain. "Then why do you become so defensive when the two of us are together?"

"Because Jazz is my _friend_ ," Wildrider replied assuredly. He continued to walk with an indignant attitude. "TC is Big Boss. He doesn't need help vith anything. Can take down Prime even, maybe, by himself. Jazz is good small boss, but I need to back him up with more care."

Hesitating, Prowl deciphered that statement. "…you worry more for Jazz because Thundercracker can take care of himself better?" he asked, surprised.

"Ah, yes, but do not tell Jazz that. He not like it very much, yes?" Wildrider replied with a sharp laugh. "He is my brother! Like Bluestreak. I enjoy TC, Vortex, yes, but they are gestalt, not my _favorites_." Prowl had never been in a gestalt, but he was surprised to learn mechs could have favorites within them. Interesting. "Vheeljack vas a creator to me. Danny, my sister. Leetle Rachel, Barns and Kass as siblings as vell, but Jazz and Bluestreak are like spark-brothers, not just kin."

Prowl nodded slowly. "I see." Sort of. He was trying.

"Jazz, he showed me I can also be good mech. The humans taught me to feel vith spark, vithout bond, but Jazz was kind first," Wildrider continued. His usual humor faded into a seriousness Prowl rarely saw from him. "I owe him much. Ve all do."

The unity these ten—eleven—had been forced to carve out of the world was something Prowl was only beginning to understand. He hoped he would. He felt as though it was something he could learn much from.

"…I see." Prowl inclined his helm as they stood at an intersection before parting ways. "I respect that, Wildrider. I mean none of your family harm."

Wildrider grinned. "No, you do not! That is vhy I trust you, this much," he said. He slapped the commander on the arm, seemingly at ease. "Perhaps you vill be family too, Praxian. You are too stiff, but that is all fine by me."

Family was an alien concept. Gestalts were, too. Prowl knew it was logical that he enter this bizarre pack of creatures with hesitation and confusion.

He did not understand the illogical sense of interest he had in sharing a part of that family, but he supposed that was only Earth's doing, as Jazz had warned him.

"Thank you," Prowl said, smiling faintly. "I appreciate it."

He didn't know why he did.

Bu he did sorely appreciate it.

**0000**

_**Jazz** _

Somehow, with the end of the war came an unending sense of chaos. Jazz liked it. It was a slow moving chaos, generally. Everything was happening at once, but it wasn't always fighting. It could have been press releases, or international meetings, or even political bickering that sometimes felt like battles but without the casualties. He wasn't one to enjoy meetings or listening to irate organics yelling about tax laws, but he had to admit, it was better than getting shot at.

What wasn't so good about the peacetime chaos was that, well, it was for everyone and it spread out great distances. Rachel was often called out with Vortex and Arcee to help maintain any Decepticons found on Earth. Barns was hopping around nearly as much as Prowl and WJ were, getting to various political meetings or dealing with engineers about the colony construction. Kass was always busy as a medic and her status as one of the only human medics for the Autobots made her an easy target for scientists to badger often for conferences. Between reconstruction and building their new home at Plumas… everyone was busy.

Like Thundercracker, who was still employed by NEST to handle any remaining Decepticon threats. His aerial capabilities put him out first on the rosters and he was often gone for longer periods of time since he could travel further than the others. Jazz didn't like it, especially since Thundercracker was often placed in the first wave and faced the most danger going in. The Seeker was still tough as nails, however. He was strong enough that Jazz let him go without much complaint and trusted in their bond to keep him in the loop.

That was why it came as a surprise when Lennox called Jazz on a private channel, just as the saboteur had finished assessing a future strike on a rumored Decepticon hold out in Afghanistan's desert.

" _Jazz, you need to go wait with Ratchet,"_ the Major told him without preamble.

Jazz was not one to ignore a directive like that and immediately took off for the exit of Hangar A. _::Who's injured?::_ He thought about Rachel, about—

" _TC. He's alive, and Smokescreen said it's not fatal, but he's going to need to get medical attention ASAP. They're landing in twenty minutes."_

Panic lancing his spark, Jazz struggle to understand why he was finding about this this way, through a third party. He reached out across the spark bond and almost snarled when he ran into a wall. He hadn't even noticed the lack of response from his mate for the last few hours; he was so fragging bad at this _married_ _thing_.

Irritation at himself and Thundercracker for closing it at all, Jazz ran across the compound to reach the medical wing. Ratchet was already outside, waiting for the returning soldiers and his patient. He ignored Jazz's questions and both waited impatiently for the incoming planes.

In his root mode, Thundercracker was airlifted in. The limp form of the jet made Jazz's spark leap up and he could barely keep himself away as the medics and Smokescreen wrangled the offline Seeker onto a stretcher. There was energon glistening all over Thundercracker's frame, and Jazz prayed to Primus that it wasn't all his.

Ratchet was angrily demanding to know who else was injured, hounding poor Smokescreen for details once they got Thundercracker on a berth in the medbay. Kass was already there, prepping for surgery. Jazz slipped in and found himself staring at his prone bondmate helplessly.

He hated this part. It was always the worst part—well, aside from losing a friend to death—about this war. The waiting, the watching…

It wasn't fatal, he kept telling himself. It wasn't a problem that couldn't be fixed.

That mantra kept him focused for about a minute, until out of the corner of his visor, another mech burst into the medbay. Jazz was taken aback when he realized Prowl was there, looking absolutely harried.

"How is he?" the Praxian asked, without giving him the chance to speak first. His doorwings were high up on his back.

"Fine. Well, he's gonna get Ratchet's tender care, so probably not fine, but he ain't dyin'." Jazz grimaced up at the taller mech once they were both in front of the medical berth. "Just a pain to wait."

"In stasis, but it's medical, don't worry," First Aid announced, dashing to and from the supply case for his tools. "He's got shrapnel lodged in several energon lines in his legs, but I've stemmed the flow. It's safer to keep him offline until Ratchet can remove—"

"OUT!" Ratchet suddenly bellowed, appearing out of the corner of their vision with his arms raised. He pointed at Smokescreen and then nearly smacked Jazz in the helm when he pointed at him and Prowl. "All non-essential medical staff—get out!" Ratchet grabbed hold of his tools and was bristling. "Jazz, I swear to Primus, you had better be gone when I look up!"

"But—!" Jazz began, alarmed. He didn't want to leave, not with his bondmate lying on that berth with energon splattered all over him—

"NOW!"

On the other table, Kass sent the saboteur a pleading look. "Jazz, please, we need room," she said, sounding hassled. She learned to do well under pressure, honestly, but having her patient being one of her family was always an understandable challenge.

Jazz held back his argument and took a moment to force himself to agree. He wasn't doing Thundercracker any good standing there, taking up room for the medics. It wasn't fatal. He wasn't needed here.

With some difficulty, he went to leave the room, but stopped when he saw Prowl was still staring at Thundercracker, doorwings high up on his back in clear distress. The schooled expression on his face didn't hide much from Jazz, who knew Prowl's emotional displays quite well.

Quietly, Jazz reached out and pulled Prowl toward the door. The Praxian didn't fight him, but Jazz could feel the tiny tremors in the taller mech's arms. He was tense. That… did not bode well.

The corridor was thankfully empty and Jazz quietly took his place opposite of the medbay doors. Prowl settled next to him and took to staring at the wall adjacent to the door, as if he could see through the wall and see what the medics were doing.

Normally, a commander would have check in on the wounded and then left. Prowl was undoubtedly busy with so many things besides this small incident. But he stayed, simmering with unspoken emotion that the average passerby never would pick up on. Jazz only did because, well, he was an expert at that point.

Jazz nudged Prowl's arm, but the black-and-white mech was fixated on the wall, unflinchingly.

"Prowl…" Jazz began, unsure.

Doorwings twitching twice before stilling, Prowl seemed to be struggling with something. Jazz let him take his time.

"…when I had heard, I was with Keller," the Praxian said, voice controlled. "I should have left the meeting sooner."

Jazz frowned. "It was classified. You had to stay."

There was something odd about how Prowl was holding himself. Too tightly. "Thundercracker…" he began, ending his statement too early. It wasn't like him.

"He's okay," Jazz replied, moving closer. "He's gonna be fine."

This wasn't the worst damage they had ever seen a teammate (or each other, even) take. This was upsetting, but not life threatening. Prowl would understand that better than anyone. It was his job to judge threats and accept them—

Jazz paused.

Oh.

"Prowl, he's gonna be fine," he said quietly. He took Prowl's arm and held him a little closer, hoping a gentle EM field would be enough to stem off the guilt he knew was bubbling underneath Prowl's eternally blank visage. "Promise."

Prowl turned finally and sent Jazz a startling look. His optics were brighter than normal. For Prowl, that was an astonishing display. "I should not have sent him in. It was a risky situation," he said. "We knew that there was a stronghold present and still only sent a minimal response team with only Thundercracker for air support."

"Yeah. That's the point, Prowler. TC knew the risks too, and he went anyway." Jazz smiled. "Because he trusts you. We all do."

The Praxian didn't reply. He stared at the wall and didn't stop stressing. Jazz watched all the signs and knew what was going through the other mech's processors. Guilt. Doubt.

But he also knew there was worry there. Worry for Thundercracker, not the mission. Jazz knew it existed, since after every close scrape he himself had run into, Jazz saw this reaction in Prowl after the fact almost every single time.

Now, in the same way he had worried about Jazz for all those centuries, Prowl was worried about Thundercracker. Not as a soldier. Not as a friend. As a mate. A _beloved_.

Jazz did his best not to grin. It was a little inappropriate. He promised himself he'd tell Thundercracker later. It would please the jet to no end. Three years into their partnership had led them to better places. This only proved that their trine was in fact more than just an experiment. It wasn't just Thundercracker and Jazz with Prowl thrown in unevenly. It was becoming equalized. It was _working_.

Concerns about injuries aside, Jazz felt immensely better about their future.

"It's not so easy," he murmured suddenly. "I'm sorry."

Prowl was still tense. "What's not easy?" he asked, glancing his way.

Jazz grinned. "Instead'a just one crazy guy t' worry about, ya got two of us now." He leaned his forehead against Prowl's shoulder. "Yer a strong mech, though. I know you'll endure it."

Prowl had endured it for millennia with Jazz running through one dangerous mission after another. Only Jazz had ever seen the brunt of Prowl's guilt and tormenting self-doubt after missions went wrong, or nearly went wrong. Mechs often said Prowl was unfeeling, or sociopathic, when it came to sending mechs to what seemed like inevitable death.

Jazz knew differently, and he knew Thundercracker saw it too. Out of all the mechs in their army, Prowl was the one burdened the most, by a horrible sense of guilt a mech of his worth never should endure. But he did endure it, silently. It was humbling.

"We trust you all the same, Prowler," Jazz said, looking up at the other mech. "You know that."

There was only a moment's pause. Prowl was still tense, but the look in his optics softened just faintly. "I do," he replied quietly.

Jazz smiled. "I'm glad."

They were going to be just fine.

  
**End** _**Three's Company** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Danny and Wildrider enact their greatest fate: celebrity.
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -Rachel and Prowl have a much more poignant "getting-to-know-you" chapter later on.


	9. Lost in Transmission (Post-Series)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today, Danny and Wildrider decide to take a nice drive through town. Today, Plumas, California (and John Keller) may not survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert "Surprise, b-. I bet you thought you saw the last of me?" meme here. Hi, guys!
> 
> This is the chapter I've been dying to get to in the Fallout series, just so I can get to the OTHER really fun chapters that this jumpstarts. ;) It's mostly fun for me due to my field of study, but it might be funny to those who aren't into PR shenanigans too. Completely un-beta'd.
> 
> Today, Danny and Wildrider decide to take a nice drive through town.
> 
> Today, Plumas, California (and John Keller) may not survive.
> 
> ERA: Post-Series (post-Apocalypse)  
> RATING: PG  
> CHARACTERS: Wildrider, Danny, survivor crew (background ensemble)  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: none
> 
> -  
> Overall Warnings: canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling stories.  
> -

_**Fallout: Adaptations**_  
 **"Lost in Transmission"**  
By Nan00k  
  


 **NEST Base**  
Near Plumas, California  
2011

"I am bored."

The three deadliest words in the cosmos.

Danny looked up from her book and smiled at Wildrider. "Really?"

Wildrider whined and stamped his pedes on the concrete, his optics shining bright green. " _Yes_."

It was a beautiful spring morning. Normally, Danny would have been outside enjoying the weather—actual spring weather she had never known growing up—but she had opted to spend her day quietly reading. The whole base seemed quiet, with so many people out on missions lately or resting up from a mission they just returned from. Despite the friendly chaos that was common at the slowly-retiring-NEST base, sometimes it was nice to have a quiet day now and again.

Wildrider was still healing from a recent altercation with loose 'Cons in Newfoundland. None of the injuries sustained by NEST forces had been serious this time, but both he and the Twins were on temporary medical leave, banned from future missions for at least a week. The Twins were at least able to retreat to on-base entertainment options, like their video games, but Wildrider didn't have the attention span for that. He wanted to get up and move…which Danny could mostly understand.

"Ve should go for drive," he said, looming over her head a bit too quickly and the displaced air sent her hair flopping into her face. "Long drive, vith lots of road!"

"'Rider, we're not allowed to go off base," Danny told him, pushing some of her hair back behind her ear; it was getting long but was as wild as ever. She frowned up at her friend. "I mean, we can, but let's double check before rushing off."

Wildrider gripped the sides of his face. "But Boss mechs aren't here!" he complained.

He was right. Thundercracker, Prowl and Jazz were all off base, committed to various duties. Danny was surprised when she thought about how few of their "bosses" were left around. It was only Epps really and he was helping out long-distance from the command center.

"You shouldn't be transforming either. You're still healing," Danny said, pointing at his patched up knee. "That Seeker nearly ripped your leg off."

Wildrider made a rude scoffing sound. "HA! As if. Arcee, she exaggerates," he said, making the effort to roll his optics as best he could. He gripped the crate in desperation. "But let's gooooo. Please? Please, Danny? I am going crazy here."

Danny smirked. "You mean crazier."

"Shut up!" he snapped, though he did so with a smile. He jumped over a nearby crate and the human. "Let's go!"

Part of her wanted to remind him that there were reasons why they couldn't just rush off the base and meet with outsiders. The world was still really new to the mechs simply existing. All of their commanders were pretty clear that it was too soon for a friendly jaunt into civilian areas, no matter if they were all well behaved.

Then again, if it was just a drive around the area and no mech transformed, surely it wasn't a disaster. It was just a break from the monotony of the base. It was fair, since the only time the mechs got to go outside the base grounds was to go on missions and those were dangerous. Danny also noted it was unfair that she and the other human survivors rarely got to go out as well except for occasional trips to Tranquility, which Danny had yet to enjoy herself.

"You know, maybe it wouldn't hurt," she said. She bit her lip as she looked around the base as if they would see their commanders lurking. "The humans would just say no, huh?"

"They are paranoid," Wildrider said, scowling.

Danny frowned. "Right. It's not fair. Simmons and Epps are the only ones here and you know Simmons would say no…"

It wasn't fair that they were trapped on base, especially for the mechs. They had wheels for a reason. Danny had only ever been to Los Angeles—once, for one of the Autobots' demonstrations after the battle there last year—but their new country and home still felt terribly alien. Sometimes the 'Bots got a few of their own to drive around, and Wildrider went with them, but it wasn't like he needed a mech babysitter to drive a few miles of open road. It was overkill.

"One drive, one driveee," Wildrider whined, sinking down to her level again.

Danny thought about it…and decided that she was a full-grown woman who deserved to make her own choices. The military didn't own them and one measly drive around the area wouldn't cause the end of the world or a public relations nightmare. Jazz would have said yes, for sure.

She grinned up at her friend.

"Okay, let me tell Barns at least."

**0000**

**One Hour Later**

It was pretty easy to sneak off of the base. It wasn't as if they were prisoners anymore (though sometimes, the security rules made it feel that way for _everyone_ ). Barns hadn't been in his office or anywhere to be found, so Danny left him a note that they had gone for a quick drive and went back to Wildrider, who insisted they leave right away, since he was so anxious to move. It felt almost like a jailbreak, but it was terribly exciting.

Danny did feel a little nervous as she and Wildrider drove past the security check points and were waved along cheerfully. All of the soldiers knew her and they certainly knew the car she was in was one of the aliens, but they probably assumed they were cleared to leave if they had just rolled up. Danny felt a little guilty taking advantage of the lack of authority figures on base that day, but it wasn't like they were doing anything wrong. They were just going for a drive around the area.

In fact, by the time they got out of the national park and got onto major roads, Danny felt strangely liberated. She stretched dramatically in her seat (because hey, it wasn't like she had to steer or drive) and sighed. Wildrider had been right; it was nice to get out of the base every once in awhile.

"Wildrider, where are we going today?" she asked. She frowned as they pulled out onto an even busier road that branched off of the park's western exit. "Wait, are you headed for the city?"

" _Yes_!" the sportscar said brightly. His engine revved. " _Ve have never seen city, but it is so close. Let's investigate._ "

He had a point. She had visited Los Angeles, but had spent most of her time going from one dark car to another. She had not have time to really take in the magnitude of the city or its people. Plumas was no Los Angeles, but it was still going to be massive compared to what little she had experienced.

"I've never really seen a city before. A populated one, anyway," she said, giggling. "I feel so rebellious."

" _Ve are rebelling against the machines_ ," Wildrider said. He paused and then chuckled darkly. "… _literally_."

"Kass would hate you for the puns," Danny said, smirking out the window.

" _Heee_."

It was always a skin-chilling experience when they drove on busy roads. Danny found herself just staring at the cars they passed. She couldn't keep track of how many cars there were, let alone people driving the vehicles.

All the roads of her youth had been dirt back roads or city motorways littered with abandoned rusted cars that were gutted by time and drone violence. If there were any people left inside of them, they had just been corpses.

Now, to see a car move with life at the steering wheel… Danny was often struck by how strange it was. It made her feel strangely empty.

Wildrider seemed to pick up on her darkening mood easily; he always seemed to know how his human friends felt at any given time. He broke into her melancholy with chipper conversation and after awhile, it worked. Danny had to laugh at his exuberance, especially as they came up to Plumas' exit.

"I wonder if they have a zoo," Danny murmured, peering out the window. She gasped as they turned onto a new road that led straight to the city. "Oooh, look at the park! I wish we could stop."

" _Ve could_ ," Wildrider said, an edge of hopefulness in his voice.

Danny shook her head. "No transforming." As much as running around with Wildrider in a city park would be fun, it wasn't the time or place for it.

" _Awww_ ," Wildrider said, only half-joking with his disappointment. _"Ve come back, later, once Old Man Keller lightens up_."

"Right," Danny said, laughing. She pointed out the window. "Oh, let's drive by that school!"

They spent close to an hour driving around Plumas. It was a lovely city. It didn't have the super tall buildings that Los Angeles had, but Danny was still caught up in awe at the amount of people she saw just…living there. Mothers pushed their children in strollers on sidewalks and older children played by themselves at a playground. There was a school, a firehouse and dozens of shops that Danny found herself staring at with wide eyes as Wildrider casually cruised up and down the streets.

It was a lovely time. Danny wished they had brought more of their friends along, namely the three other humans who had grown up with her. They would have appreciated this more than anyone else. Kass had visited Tranquility a lot with Miles and Sam, but she had told them all that it never lost it's awe-factor when she saw the little city outside the desert.

The people were the worst and best part. Danny, at every red light, just stared at the people on the sidewalks or inside stores or cars. It was so surreal, to see them there, alive.

She wondered, not for the first time, how different her life would have been in Europe had the drones never come. Would her mother have walked her around in a stroller like that? Would she have been running wild with friends on the sidewalks outside ice cream parlors? Would she have gone to a school like Plumas Elementary and wore a tiny pink backpack like so many little girls she had seen already?

It would have been too different; she never would have had Wheeljack or the others in her family. Danny had regrets, but never regretted what ultimately became her reality. She had lost so much, but to lose what she had managed to carve out in her current existence would be too high a price.

She smiled and absently patted Wildrider's steering wheel as he cheerfully sang along to a song on the radio.

It was already after noon when she asked to stop for food. They pulled up in front of a little café and Danny nervously went out to buy a sandwich. She wasn't that good with money yet, but no one was looking at her weird as she stood in line. With over a year of hot showers, decent clean clothing, and a much better diet, Danny figured she looked more normal than she had when they first arrived in that timeline. She sort of liked the anonymity.

"This is such a cute town," she said once she slid back into Wildrider and she unwrapped her lunch. "We must have driven around five times. I didn't think it was that big."

Wildrider chuckled. " _Ve are no longer in Plumas_."

"Huh?" Danny asked, through a mouthful of chicken salad.

" _Neighboring town, I think_ ," he said. He didn't sound concerned. " _They overlapped. Still pretty, yes?_ "

Danny hummed thoughtfully as she ate. It was a pretty area, though it was a bit surprising that they had moved over a whole town and she hadn't noticed. She supposed a lot of these areas looked the same. It was still a nice experience.

Across the street, there was a gas station. There had been some sort of accident before they had pulled up, because a white SUV had pulled back from the side of a smaller sedan to reveal it had struck the driver's side door somehow. Danny was distracted as she watched the drivers of both vehicles yelling at each other from their respective windows. No one seemed to be hurt, though the sedan had certainly seen better days.

"Hey, Wildrider, where are we, exactly?" Danny asked suddenly, looking back at the dashboard. She hadn't realized they had been sitting there for so long.

" _Eh_?"

"Where are we?" she repeated. "You know, how far from base are we now?"

" _I do not know_ ," he answered.

Danny frowned. "You have a GSP now, don't you?"

" _GPS_ ," he corrected her. " _And no, I do not_."

There was a pause.

"…What?"

" _I never got Ratchet to fix that after last fight_ ," Wildrider said. " _He so busy vith fixing Bluestreak and that red-and-yellow mech with one leg, I never vent to ask._ "

Danny stared at his dashboard. "…You never asked to get your GPC fixed?"

" _GPS_."

"Whatever!" Danny gasped, now alarmed. "How do we get back home? I don't have a map!"

Wildrider revved his engine and didn't seem concerned in the least. " _I can call back to base, don't vorry. Ve are not even_ that _lost. Ve do not need to let base know ve left park roads, yes?_ "

The responsible side of Danny, which had grown considerably since their wild youth, nagged at her conscience. If they weren't back home before people really noticed they were missing, they would get into so much more trouble than if they came back before the discovery. She didn't want to cause anyone problems by having a little bit of fun.

Still, it wasn't as if they had really broken any true rule or confidence of NEST. It was just a trip out and Wildrider had been excellently well behaved. If they made it home on their own, no one would have to know they hadn't just stuck to the back roads.

"…only if we get really lost. Then we call," she said, deciding it was a decent compromise. She peered out the window. "This area is so big."

" _Not as big as New York. Ah, I cannot vait to go there_ ," Wildrider said, sighing as he sank on his tires.

Danny considered it. "That's all the way over on the East coast, so it must at _least_ take five hours to get there, right?"

" _Ehh, someday, ve must go_ ," Wildrider said.

"Okay, but let's just focus on getting home today in one piece—"

A sudden outburst of screaming outside made Danny jump and she felt Wildrider tense up in surprise as well. Before she could even ask what was the matter, in case Wildrider had noticed before she had, she saw a flash of orange across the street. The sedan that had been in the car accident was still parked at the gas station, but now, it's bent hood was emitting a huge cloud of black smoke.

"Holy crap! Is that car on fire?" Danny asked, sitting straight up in her seat. She could see the growing flames from where they were parked.

" _Yes, it is_ ," Wildrider replied. He sounded far too upbeat. " _Cool_!"

"No, it's not cool!" Danny chided. She leaned up over the wheel and watched as cars moved out of the way. "Lookit all the people screaming… oh!"

Danny scrambled in her seat, feeling compelled to get out to see what was going on across the street. The driver of the white SUV had gotten out of his car and was trying to pull the sedan's driver's door open. For it to catch fire, something must have been very wrong with the car.

Stepping outside of Wildrider, Danny craned her neck, eyes going wide when she saw how bad the scene actually was. People were stopping everywhere around the burning car in a wide arch, both to watch and for some people to shout instructions on how to help. Danny froze when she saw that there wasn't just one person inside. There were three people—and one of them was a child, from the looks of it.

They couldn't get the car doors open.

"'Rider!" she exclaimed, turning around to find her friend.

" _Vhat do I do?_ " Wildrider asked, sounding startled.

"Help them!" Danny looked back up at the flames and tried to figure out what to do. Where were the authorities? Didn't they have fire trucks to stop fires? Those people—they were still in the car!

" _How—oh, vait_ ," Wildrider said. He suddenly closed his door and Danny jumped back into the street. " _Stand back!_ "

It took her half a second; Danny gasped and lunged for his side when she realized what he intended to do. "Wait, wait, 'Rider, I meant—!"

She had meant for him to radio back to base or to the nearest authority station (police bases?) to get help. She had not meant to encourage Wildrider to transform in the middle of the street and send everyone in a ten-meter radius screaming and running, including would-be rescuers.

Danny stared up at her friend and sighed.

"Well, that works too, I guess," she said. It was too late to stop him now. The damage was done.

"Out of vay!" Wildrider crowed, cheerfully marching forward toward the burning car.

" _Aliens_!" someone screamed as the crowd that had formed around the accident started to run the opposite way in sheer panic.

"He's harmless!" Danny shouted, waving her hands. "Really!"

No one listened to her, but she had to admit, there were more pressing concerns than scared civilians. Wildrider took no time reaching the cars and pushed the not-burning SUV away from the smoldering sedan. Danny moved up closer, eyeing the flaming vehicle nervously. There were still people in there trying to escape, but they had frozen upon seeing Wildrider looming over them.

The mech reached over to grab hold of the bent side door that had trapped the people inside. He braced his foot on the flaming hood of the car and yanked the door clear it off the frame. The terrified faces still in the car stared up at him from his shadow.

Optics narrowed, Wildrider motioned with the door still in his grip.

"Out of car, squishies," he said; Danny sighed at the ill attempted humor. "Fire and squishy frames don't mix, yes?"

"Don't scare them!" Danny said. She rushed up and grabbed hold of the female driver. "Come on, get out of the car! It's getting worse!"

Dragging the woman out revealed that there were two other passengers. The passenger side had been pushed up against the barrier between two of the gas pumps, so the child in the front seat couldn't push his door open before. The remaining older woman in the back seemed to be unable to move on her own, so Wildrider hastily grabbed her up, which made her scream. The teenager in the passenger seat scrambled after his mother through the driver's side. Wildrider shooed Danny forward after cradling the old woman in one hand. He then lifted his leg and pushed the burning car several meters away from the gas pumps.

They moved across the street swiftly, where the surge of crowd backtracked once Wildrider came closer. Danny opened her mouth to ask where the emergency service people were, but a loud bang made her jump. Turning, she saw the hood of the burning car had been thrown up and black smoke rose up from it furiously. Flames were shooting out from the opened car door and windows. Danny exhaled heavily; that had been close.

The sound of sirens was discomforting to hear, but Wildrider seemed fine. He patiently held out the old woman to two men (brave guys, Danny noted) who helped her over to an ambulance that just arrived. The woman and teenager who had escaped on their own two feet remained briefly. The driver was staring up at Wildrider with unshielded shock, but also a visible gratitude.

"Th-thank you," she said, clutching her son, her eyes wide as she stared at the mech.

Wildrider preened, despite the obvious fear the victims had on their faces. "I am hero, yes?" he asked, looking down at Danny to his side. He motioned cheerfully around them. "Ha! Look, more people. I see cameras."

Danny almost congratulated him, but then stopped, her entire body freezing up in panic when she realized what he had just said. "That's—WHAT?" She spun around and saw several bright flashes from the rumbling crowd. "Oh, no, Wildrider! Transform!"

"Vhy?" Wildrider asked, sounding confused. More flashes went off and he waved.

"Y-you're—we're not supposed to be on camera! The Autobots aren't allowed to wander around!" Danny exclaimed. Oh, man, they were going to be scrapped for this! Saving lives was one thing, but she hadn't expected the media people to show up so quickly. Were they live on TV? Even she knew that was exactly what Prowl and Keller wanted to avoid!

"Ve are not Autobots officially yet. Besides, vhy so stupid rules? Ve are not prisoners of Earth. Ve save Earth," Wildrider replied, sounding terribly smug. He nodded his head at a jaw-dropped journalist who had moved up with a camera held in front of him like a shield. "Vhat you looking at, squishy?"

Danny gripped her face and tried to hide behind Wildrider's leg. "Oh, man, Jazz is gonna freak," she said. Her heart leapt into her throat. _"Keller_ is gonna freak!"

Wildrider snorted and waved again at another camera-wielding human. "Let him. He's going to die in few years anyvay."

"WILDRIDER!" Danny exclaimed. That was horrible for him say!

"Vhat?" Wildrider asked, too-innocently. He shuttered his optics and then opened them, pointedly staring behind Danny at someone. "Oh, hey."

Danny turned and regretted it. She saw a new wave of civilians coming up, ignoring the requests of the few police officers to stand back from the still-smoking wreck of cars just across the street. The people at the front of the crowd all had cameras and all seemed to be the media people Prowl had warned them all to avoid.

_Uh oh…_

"You! Hey, you!" the journalist asked. He was looking frantically at Danny, who could only stand there in shock. "Lady, what's your name?"

"Is that an Autobot?" another woman called out.

Another journalist was scribbling away on a notepad frantically. "Is there a battle going on? Why are you here?"

"Autobot, hey! Is Optimus Prime here?"

"Did you cause that wreck?"

Danny stepped back further behind Wildrider when the humans got closer; they luckily knew to keep there distance from the mech, who seemed to (unhelpfully) enjoy the attention.

One brave woman came up just in front of Wildrider, her make-up smeared a bit from the heat and the fact her eyes were wide with excitement. "Did you save those people?" she asked.

"Yes, I did," Wildrider answered, chestplates puffed up a bit unnecessarily.

"Are you an Autobot?" the journalist asked, too eager. "What brings you out here?"

"You ask too many questions," Wildrider said, causing the woman to flinch. He laughed anyway. "Ha! But yes, I am Autobot. Sort of. I just joined."

Danny gripped his side. "Wildrider, please—"

Not taking the hint, Wildrider moved back and pushed Danny forward with his hand. "And this is my friend, Danny! She is fighter, too!" he said, grinning. "Ve saw the burning car, and I say, 'Vhy not help? Humans cannot open door on their own.' So I opened it for them. Helpful, yes?"

The journalists in the very front who had the best view and hearing froze.

"…Y-yes," one man said, recovering quicker than his colleagues. "Why are you out here? We were told the Autobots would be confined to the Plumas NEST compound."

Danny bit her lip. "Er… it's my fault. I wanted to go sightseeing and I asked if Wildrider could drive me…"

"BAH!" Wildrider suddenly burst out, causing everyone nearby to jump. He waved his hand impatiently. "It is free country, yes? I am free mech. I vant to see country as well. It is very big, bigger than Kaon or even Iacon." He paused and then added, "I vould very much vant to see New York. Or giant ball of string. That is funny to me."

"Wildrider, we're gonna get in trouble!" Danny hissed, leaning up close to his faceplates. She winced when more flashes went off.

"Too late," Wildrider told her, grinning. He pointed at what was clearly a video-taking-camera. "Ha! Ve are already on news."

Danny looked into the black orb that was most likely taking in her image, soon to be spread everywhere. It wouldn't take long for the military to find it…which meant Prowl and Keller would see it too.

"…Oh, man," Danny whispered, as the wall of chattering journalists converged on them tighter, throwing questions out in a blur of noise.

This could not have possibly have gone worse, she decided.

**0000**

And then it did.

" _WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? !_ "

"I'm sorry…" Danny whimpered, sinking lower and lower into Wildrider's hood.

She had arrived on base looking like she was going to face a hoard of drones alone. Barns had heard the outcry earlier about what had happened in Plumas, but there was nothing to be done then. The video was out and it was _out—_ all over the globe, apparently. Wildrider's heroics had become a phenomena in almost less than an hour. Barns considered that rather impressive.

… _if_ it hadn't sent NEST authorities into a near meltdown when the stars of the show finally dragged themselves home. Even Wildrider, who had appeared unapologetic on the television, refused to transform to face Keller, who greeted them personally, so that spoke for his guilt. Barns had gone along for the harsh breakdown of facts, knowing that levelheadedness was going to be a rare resource in that conversation.

Jazz, despite being overwhelmed with frustration over the whole thing, sent Keller a lukewarm glare after that outburst. "Don't yell at her, they weren't out to cause any harm, man," he said, edging just a fraction closer to where Wildrider and Danny sat, a subtle but clear gesture of defense.

Keller was still apparently immune to robot glares. "Do you have ANY idea what this did to our position?" he demanded, nearly breathless from his outbursts. Barns' ears were still ringing from earlier. "We told the world you folks would stay here, out of sight, not go running around the country! Now they're out there sayin' y'all are on every street corner again and we had just beaten down a lot of that paranoia a few weeks ago!"

"Who's 'they'?" Bluestreak asked in a loud whisper, part of the small crowd outside the NEST and Autobot leaders' circle.

Vortex slapped the back of his helm. "Shut up."

"You cannot just go gallivanting around wherever ya please, not until y'all got Green Cards and we have at least a few years of good PR behind us!" Keller continued, ignoring the peanut gallery entirely. He rounded on the red-and-blue giant next to him, undaunted as ever by the height difference. "Prime, this is _your_ responsibility as well. You need to keep your men in line!"

Optimus rumbled lowly. He had been the only leader who had not reacted in open anger or frustration over the video. "Danielle is not one of my soldiers nor should any of the humans without proper identification be subjected to such strict protocols," he said, speaking slowly and his optics narrowing. "Wildrider and Danny did not mean any harm."

"But they caused it anyway," Simmons said with a sneer. Barns glared at him; the gesture was returned.

"Like what?" Epps challenged, thankfully standing up for the survivors. "They saved three people from a burning car! That's good public imagery, ain't it?"

"Transforming in public while remaining untracked across the country is not!" Keller snapped.

"What, you guys planning on puttin' homin' collars on us once this place is ours?" Jazz broke in, crossing his arms. He shook his helm. "Keller, I know we all respect yer authority on how we should behave, but at the bottom line, you know we're not Decepticons without morals or common sense."

"Well, most of us have common sense," Arcee muttered, glancing toward Wildrider in particular.

He bristled, tires grinding. "Shut up!"

"AND," Jazz continued, louder, "yer underestimating our ability to win over the public a bit, aren't ya? I mean, sure, people are gonna complain about seeing mechs out and about, but ya forget that this time the media got the story right."

"He has a point, Director," Prowl said, speaking up before the human leader could. "The media has pointed out the inconsistency with our joint declaration of the Autobots remaining out of sight with this abrupt display, but it has also focused to a surprising extent on the good that came from it." He looked down at his datapad for emphasis. "They are heralding Wildrider's actions as the correct choice he could have made under the circumstances."

" _Hmp_." Wildrider revved his engine slightly. "Told _you_." Others rolled their eyes or optics.

Keller threw his arms up in the air. "And, what? We're supposed to let the world brand the American government as making promises it can't keep about you aliens?" he asked. "How is that gonna stand when we tell them that we can handle the Decepticons or this colony venture, and all we have to show for our word concerning the lot of you is us promising one thing and y'all doin' the exact opposite of my word!"

"It's always about your damn ego," Thundercracker growled loudly. Keller went bright red and started to speak, but Optimus cut him off.

"We must restrict our unannounced appearances in public. I agree that much. We cannot cause mass panic by making it seem like the Autobots are disregarding Earth's authority figures," the Autobot leader said, speaking carefully. He sent Danny and Wildrider a meaningful look, which made them both sink down faintly in embarrassment. "However, perhaps this should serve as a lesson for future incidents. In the future, we should plan for the gradual inclusion of Autobots, who have the intention of staying on Earth permanently, as a part of Earth society, announced or unannounced."

Barns did like the mech for his eloquence and also his fairness. With a quiet sigh, Barns moved over to Danny's side and patted her arm. She sent him a miserable look, clearly feeling guilty for everything.

Keller had to take several deep breaths before he could continue. Jazz and Thundercracker exchanged a look overhead and only Optimus managed to remain unexpressive as he waited for the Director to continue.

Finally, Keller turned around and fixed Prime with a fierce look.

"It is easy for all of you to say that, but I do see what your saying," he said at length. He scowled when his eyes suddenly went to Jazz and Thundercracker. "But this isn't over. We have one hell of a mess to clean up before it festers. You're going to help."

"How?" Thundercracker asked, frowning deeply.

Keller's eyes twitched. "I know a fellow."

**0000**

That fellow arrived two days later, bright and early, while the whole group was assembled. Kass was mildly impressed, but equally intimidated, by Keller's promptness.

Just as their routine started, with everyone getting dressed in their hangar space or chatting casually for the mechs, someone approached from the front gate. It was only after Bluestreak tensed up warily that Kass finally looked over and saw an unfamiliar human standing several yards back from their camp.

He was a middle-aged man, tall and sort of lanky, with light brown hair that was beginning to gray around his ears. He was wearing a suit like every other Sector-7 agent did, but unlike them, his was brown and far less kept.

"Which one of you is Autobot… Jazz?" he asked. He had a nondescript American accent. Kass was curious.

Thundercracker immediately sat up a bit, glancing just barely at Jazz, who remained silent. "Who are you?" the jet demanded.

"Name's Frank Woodstock. I'm here to clean up your mess," the man replied. He tucked his hands into his pockets, unperturbed by how the mechs were staring him down. Kass gave the man credit. "I'm all for preemptive strikes, however, so let's start with some ground rules. I ask again, which of you is Autobot Jazz?"

"Me," Wildrider said immediately, ignoring Arcee's soft sigh.

Woodstock had gone to peer closer at the mech, but Jazz waved his hand suddenly, catching his attention solidly. "Hey, now, we have some rules on space," Jazz warned. Kass tried to get rid of the mental image of the last time a Sector-7 agent had gotten too close. Woodstock obligingly hung back. "What can we do fer you?"

"I'm here to speak to all of you," Woodstock replied calmly, "especially your more high-strung members, who I have been told include _all_ of you as such."

Wildrider glared. "That is rude!" he said, shoulders hunched. He motioned with his hand impatiently. "You should go avay now. Ve are done talking."

Woodstock stared back, one eyebrow arching in defiance. "Careful, big guy, or else I'm gonna call you Disco," he said. He tilted his head with a feigned smile. "Or how about Ballroom Dancing?"

Cutting off Wildrider's outrage, Jazz chuckled. "I like him," he said, to their group. He turned his head back and nodded at Woodstock. "An' I'm Jazz, actually."

"Cool. Much more name-appropriate," Woodstock said, utterly calm again. Kass watched, both intrigued and suspicious. The agent continued by clapping his hands together. "So! I'm in charge of your public relations image from now on. After that little _incident_ two days ago, Keller thought it was time your group specifically had some image management training."

"Image management?" Barns repeated, frowning. "For us specifically?" Woodstock nodded.

Arcee leaned forward a little, also uncertain. "We are not in the public eye typically. Why would we need this?" It was strange, since, well, Kass did not think they were more famous than Optimus Prime's main unit. They took in most of the press, after all.

"Uh, hello? Giant robot pulling trapped grannies from burning cars? That ring any bells and whistles?" Woodstock asked, sarcastically motioning with his finger. He sighed loudly when no one reacted. "Come on, guys, you're not invisible here. You'll end up getting into the public's radar eventually, especially after that dramatic entrance. You're practically your own team in NEST, according to Major Lennox, so people will view you differently in the media."

Kass wasn't sure she agreed, but perhaps they should be prepared to stand alone from NEST. After all, they were the top picks for the Green Cards and their mechs would be living on Earth after most of the Autobots left. They would be important faces to know for the media once the laws changed and they actually did apply for citizenship.

 _That_ was a little intimidating, she thought in a daze.

Jazz considered all of what was said. "…I guess that's one way of lookin' at it," he admitted. He tilted his helm at the human. "But 'Rider did good. So did Danny."

Woodstock nodded. "The action was good, but you messed up on one very important detail that day," he said.

Both Danny and Wildrider hesitated. "…Which was?" Danny asked.

"You brought a two-story robot into a city unannounced," he said pointedly. " _That's_ the problem."

Danny frowned. "They're not robots."

"I know, but it's funner to say," Woodstock replied, without apology.

Kass exchanged a look with Rachel, who seemed to be thinking the same thing: he was either a keeper or a rival to Simmons' status as most annoying human on base.

Woodstock then turned slightly on his heels to peer up at Wildrider, who was still bristling. "Who are you, anyway?" the human asked, eyes narrowed.

The mech glowered. "Wildrider," he said, practically with an indignant sniff.

An odd look flashed over Woodstock's face, mixed with recognition. "Oh, Jesus, _that_ explains it," he said. He snapped his fingers up at the mech. "Alright, Piledriver."

" _Wildrider_!" the red-and-black mech snarled. Vortex quietly snickered at his expense until Arcee told him to shut up.

Woodstock continued without pausing for a second. "You can't just transform in the middle of a crowd. It'll incite way too much of that lovely thing called _Sheer Panic_. You got that?"

Wildrider sent him a grumpy look, but didn't argue.

"And further more, I've managed to negotiate with Old Iron Sides about this whole off-base grounding. I personally think you guys should be wary about going off on your own just because it's a big scary world for time traveling robots, but realistically, you're going to have to go out there," Woodstock continued, barely having to breathe. "He said that you're allowed off once you guys get official Green Cards for the humans. They can accompany the non-carded mechs up until the point you guys get cards yourselves, once Washington gets its panties out of a bunch about the whole thing. Sound good?"

"Old Iron… wait," Barns said, blinking at that wall of information. "You mean, Keller?"

Woodstock just smiled. "Yup."

There was a pause.

"Yeah," Jazz said, grinning, "I think we're gonna be good friends, Woodstock." Wildrider even snickered.

"I hope so," Woodstock said, matching that grin. "Now, who wants a crash course in how to handle paparazzi?"

Kass could only hope it would be enough.

.

* * *

**End** _**Lost in Transmission** _ **.  
**

**Next, the PR scandals continue to rise when Danny offers to sub for a sick Simmons at a press event. This can only end in complete disaster, amirite?**

* * *

.

 **A/Ns** :  
-Woodstock is basically Simmons minus the asshole-qualities. Well, the more annoying ones anyway. He's a pretty chill guy, tho.  
-This has opened the doorway to so many more fun episodes. _**I am so excited.**_


	10. Unwanted Exposure (Post Series)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **_Fallout: Adaptations_  
> **  
>  “Unwanted Exposure”  
> By Nan00k
> 
> GUESS WHO’S BACK aka guess who realized this chapter was half-finished and gdi I should just finish it.
> 
> In which Danny makes a big, big mistake and Rachel tries to pick up the slack. ;) **This is a direct sequel to the last chapter, “Lost in Transmission”** and a start of many future adventures, I assure you. Danny, time for your close up, darling.
> 
> \---  
> Overall Warnings: canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
> Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling stories.  
> \---

****_ August 2010 _

It was all Danny’s fault.

Rachel was one hundred percent certain of that fact. Barns was trying to be nice, claiming it was an accident, and even Lennox and Woodstock were trying to be cool-headed about it. But Rachel? She pointed out the truth, that Danny fucked up and damn if she didn’t drop the ball  _ good _ this time. And of course, Rachel, being who she was, had to pick up the pieces in the only way any of them could.

“You’re going to regret this,” Vortex told her grumpily as she spent yet another night up late trying to fix the mess. “ _ I _ already do.”

“Shut up, you’re not even helping me,” Rachel snapped back, typing away on a laptop she had finally been forced to learn how to use. It wasn’t too difficult, especially seeing her words flying across the screen like magic. “How do you spell  _ Cybertronian _ ?”

It would be a long journey to see it through, but it was still Danny’s fault at the end of this,  _ again _ , for the second time that year.

…Though blaming Woodstock seemed like a good idea, too. He was probably another reason Rachel was stuck where she was.

Either way, Rachel hated everyone and would continue to hate everyone until they could stop worrying about the press beating down their doors.

It would be a long,  _ long _ wait, indeed.

**0000**

_ One Weeks Earlier _

For the first time in her recent memory, Danny was eating alone during breakfast. It was a beautiful summer day, but somehow, she was one of the few of her friends around. Barns, WJ and some of the NEST scientists were doing some testing with new armor Rachel would be sporting for future ‘Con scouting missions. 

“I’ll be space-ready!” Rachel had crowed. “How neat is that?!”

Less than pleased, Thundercracker had sent her a dark look. “ _ Neat _ is equivalent with  _ in more danger than you could possibly fathom _ .”

“I agree with the Seeker,” Vortex added. Rachel had made a face at them both.

Kass was busy doing more science presentations off-site with Miles and Bluestreak for company, likely getting to enjoy exploring the East coast. Wildrider had finally been cleared for combat again and was with other Autobots for ‘Con scouting in Tanzania. Jazz and Arcee were doing their own political work somewhere in Taiwan that week, too. Danny had been invited to come along, but she had decided that she wanted to spend some time by herself for once.

Not to mention the fact that her “escapades” (as Prowl called it) a few months ago left her uneasy about public appearances. She wasn’t grounded anymore, but even with Woodstock’s help in knowing how much was too much with revealing themselves in public unannounced, she was nervous about messing up again.

Of course, as Woodstock put it later, the public liked Wildrider and Danny’s appearance, ultimately. Danny decided to take that as a win.

That was all decidedly in the back of her mind, of course, when she enjoyed the quiet breakfast in the mess tent on base. Danny was finishing up her cereal when she saw two familiar friendly faces headed her way. Will Lennox and Frank Woodstock looked exhausted and seemed to be bickering about something, but by the time they got to the table, Danny knew it wasn’t a real argument. 

Lennox threw himself down onto a chair at the end of the table and buried his face into his hands.

“We’re screwed,” he said, his voice muffled, but still clearly distraught.

Danny smiled through her cereal. “Mornin’, Woodstock. Mornin’, Will.” 

“Seriously, we are screwed,” Lennox said, ignoring her. He looked up, bleary eyed, over at Woodstock, who had taken a seat opposite of him. “I don’t even know what to tell Keller. He wasn’t answering his phone, but we’re going to have to tell him eventually.”

Not used to seeing the major looking so upset, Danny stopped eating. “What’s wrong?” she asked, peering over at Woodstock, who sighed. It was also odd to see their PR agent look so haggard. He could duke it out with Jazz and Rachel verbally without breaking a sweat.

“It’s stupid, unimportant PR bullshit that the NEST higher ups—some ass named Galloway—has decided is more important than hunting down the ‘Con sightings in Northern Canada,” Lennox said.

“Simmons had to cancel his trip to L.A. because he’s sick,” Woodstock replied to Danny, glum.

“He  _ gets _ sick?” She had always imagined cold germs running the opposite direction from his energy aura alone.

“I don’t care if he’s  _ dying _ ,” Lennox moaned into his hands. “I can’t believe I have to fill in for him. I can’t do this.”

Whatever it was must have been awful, Danny realized, if it was bad enough to make a trained soldier that upset.

“Well, I certainly can’t,” Woodstock shot back, irritated. “I’ve got meetings all day and then I need to get on a plane tonight for Bangkok by six. I can’t appear in all these places at once.” He did seem to have to travel everywhere on the planet every other day. He definitely got good overtime pay, Jazz once said.

Danny still didn’t understand what the problem was. There were plenty of other NEST personnel, some even non-soldiers. “What’s the job? Maybe Sam can do it,” she suggested, trying to be helpful.

“ _ Sam _ ? Are you nuts?” Woodstock barked out a laugh. “I like the kid, I really do, but he’s not made for camera. His girlfriend is too scary, too. He's also in class right now.”

Danny frowned. “Oh.” She didn’t know what made one qualified for being in front of a camera.

“…Camera?” she suddenly repeated, intrigued.

“Simmons was supposed to be doing an interview tomorrow on the Gail Winters Show about the Autobots,” Lennox said, scowling into his coffee. “I suck at interviews. I always make it too serious, and that’s not good for civilian news. Even Epps is better than I am talking to journalists, but he’s flying in from Australia right now, from that last ‘Con grab.”

“Oh.” Danny frowned. “Well… isn’t there anyone else?”

“No one human,” Lennox said, almost sulking. “They wanted someone who’s good with the mechs, knows about them and can speak well of them, plus was there at one of the battles for Earth. It’s all PR crap, but I can’t understand why this can’t wait.”

“Of course it can’t wait,” Woodstock said, irritable. “All PR is good PR. More importantly is making sure that the public trusts that these guys are what we’re sellin’ ‘em as.”

Lennox snorted. “Your friendly neighborhood talking cars?”

“Hey, _they’re_ the ones who picked accents and personalities right outta our movies,” Woodstock said. “All I mean is that we can’t let that image get questioned. We need silly, unimportant presentations that do that, and right now, we don’t have many people who…can...”

He stopped, his voice trailing off faintly. Danny had gone to finish her cereal milk off, but when she looked up, she noticed the older man was staring at her.

“Danny?” Woodstock suddenly asked.

“Yeah?” Danny asked. She was surprised to see him staring intensely at her, almost like when Barns discovered something new and sciencey.

“How old are you?” Woodstock asked, eyes wider.

Lennox froze and then turned to give the PR specialist a wary look. “Woody, no,” he said, understanding more than Danny did at the moment. “That’s a baaad idea.”

“Bear with me,” Woodstock said quickly. He leaned forward and smiled oddly across the table as he waited for an answer. “Danny?”

“Twenty-three,” Danny said, frowning curiously. “Why?”

Woodstock and Lennox exchanged a long look before Woodstock finally looked back at her.

“How good are you at memorizing a script?” Woodstock asked, eyes twinkling.

Danny blinked, words halting before she could answer directly.

_ Oh _ .

**0000**

And with that, two hours later, she was on the road to Los Angeles.

Agent Ferguson wasn’t a real NEST agent. He was one of Woody’s assistants. He was just as friendly as Woodstock was, with more calmness, as Kass commented before. He was always busy doing ordinary PR work for the base, so Danny hardly ever spent time with Ferguson.

“They’re going to love you,” Ferguson said, for the third time, as they left the expressway. 

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m not trained,” Danny said, glancing over at him from the passenger seat. It was so distracting not being in a sentient car. It was like they were driving a dead mech and it was a little creepy. It was a really nice car, though.

Ferguson chuckled. “But you’re likable. You’re probably the most likable person in NEST, Danny. You know how to smile, when to smile,” he said, glancing over at her. “More importantly, the producers of the show were ecstatic that you of all people were coming.”

Danny frowned. “Why? I’m not famous.”

“Remember when you and Wildrider got lost last spring downtown? And you were on the news?” Ferguson asked. Danny could hardly forget that moment; neither could the Internet, according to Jazz. “Well, despite what Simmons said, the public loved that. They thought you were both charming.”

“Maybe Wildrider should have come too, then,” Danny said, intrigued.

“Uh, he’s a bit big for the studio.”

“…True,” Danny agreed, after trying to visualize what little she knew of television studios.  _ The View _ seemed like it wasn’t too big. “Well, I hope they still like me then. I’ll try not to mess up.”

“Most of the story is already out. Just skip the intelligence about the All Spark, their religious beliefs, or Prime’s position in their faith,” Ferguson said, switching lanes and then taking an exit ramp off the interstate. “Faith stuff gets nasty in the news.”

“Right. No All Spark, Matrix, Primes, or Unicron.” Danny paused. “And no Fallen.”

Ferguson hesitated, as they all did, whenever that name was mentioned.

“No Fallen,” he agreed. Danny looked away nervously. Even she knew that some things were not meant to be repeated aloud.

She was grateful for when they made it to the studio thirty minutes later. It was a massive complex of buildings, almost like a military base, but there were so many civilians everywhere. They went to one of the hangar-like buildings north of the complex and Ferguson told her to stick close, as there could be paparazzi everywhere. Her appearance had been revealed on the show’s website and Twitter, so they knew she would be there that morning. 

It was still disconcerting to know that she was “famous.” People barely knew her name or anything about her, but Danny learned that Kass often got hounded by press just for knowing any ‘Bots whenever the woman went out to do talks at universities. Danny knew that it was just part of their new world, where the Autobots were slowly becoming something to be chased in the news rather than something to run from. She decided to take it as a positive sign, even if she never thought that she’d be newsworthy either.

(Not that she was dismissing her and Wildrider’s brief moment in the spotlight last spring. She was grateful that it had been a positive thing in the end, but man, she didn’t want to cause a stir like that again.)

Once they were herded to the back hallway and then led to a recording studio’s preparation room, Ferguson turned to Danny, handing her a small stack of papers that were meant to give her some notes to read off of, but Danny knew they were just to give her something to read to calm her nerves. The script idea Woodstock had wouldn't work since it was a live recording.

“I’m going to check in with security. You get started with Ms. Winters over there,” Ferguson said. He pointed back toward the curtains. “I’ll be right over there, okay?”

Danny nodded, hiding her anxiety. “Okay. See you later.”

She stood there, holding her notes, only for a minute longer. She came to attention when a tall, slender woman emerged from the curtains, calling over her shoulder to another worker. She was wearing a really nice purple suit and skirt, with black high-heeled shoes that made Danny’s ankles hurt just looking at. Danny had been permitted to just wear a nice t-shirt and jeans, but now, she felt a little underdressed. The new lady was really pretty too, with long black hair. Danny wished her hair could grow that long without all the curls.

“Hi! Danny?” the woman asked, her void bright and her smile brighter as she moved over.

“Hi. Yes, I’m Danny,” she said, reaching out to shake the older woman’s hand.

“Hello!” the reporter said. She shook Danny’s hand firmly. She smelled nice, like flowers, which made Danny’s nose itch. “My, you are one adorable young lady. My name’s Gail Winters. Welcome to the studio.”

Danny laughed, rubbing her arm nervously. “Thank you. It’s very nice here.”

“I hope we can have some fun today,” Gail said. She seemed nice and open, which immediately made Danny feel at ease. “I know this is your first interview. Mr. Woodstock said you volunteered since your other PR agent was ill?”

“Yeah, it’s… weird,” Danny admitted. She laughed. “I’m not really a soldier, but my family is a huge part of NEST. I’m just sort of one of the extras, I guess?”

“But you were involved in the battle for Los Angeles?” Gail asked.

“Yeah. Sort of. The beginning of it, anyway.” She might not have made it off the base, but she damn well served in the battle for Earth overall, as Miles also liked to say about himself. “I hope I can offer you something for the show. I do know the Autobots pretty well.”

Gail grinned, thrilled and that made Danny feel even better. “That’s great! Let me run through some of the beginning questions with you. We have thirty minutes ‘til we have to get started, okay? We’ll get some make up done, too. That work for you?”

Danny nodded and cheerfully followed after the older woman. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all.

**0000**

The show began about an hour and a half later and Danny couldn’t wait for it to end the moment it started. Gail did a short segment before they stopped for commercials and that’s when Danny was brought out. The lights were too bright and there were six rows of overly excited people in the audience. Danny tried to keep her eyes on the camera, knowing that somewhere beyond it, her family would be watching. It was a special live showing; there was only a twelve second delay between her and her family. That kept her calm, even as Gail began to speak when her director gave the signal to start.

“Welcome everyone here at the studio, or at home joining us today for  _ The Gail Winters Show _ . I’m Gail Winters and we’ve got a special guest today that’s going to knock your socks off,” the dark haired woman said. She spoke fluidly and boldly; it made Danny feel under-qualified to speak at all. “It took some finagling and lots of intimidating FBI phone calls, but we managed to get one of the most unassuming government liaisons here to talk about the hottest topics in the news. We are going to be speaking with her now, live, and you are the first to hear it!”

Smiling brightly, Gail motioned to her left, at her guest. “Allow me to introduce you to Danielle Elizabeth, a member of the few humans who live amongst the NEST Autobots here on Earth. Welcome, Danielle!”

“Hi!” Danny waved and tried to keep up a bold attitude when she realized everyone was applauding for  _ her _ . That made her more nervous than she thought it would. “Ah, hello, everyone.”

Gail settled in her seat more and gave her entire attention to Danny. It made everyone stop cheering finally, which made things seem  _ way _ more comfortable, so Danny relaxed a bit. “May I call you Danny?” Gail asked, polite.

Danny nodded and grinned. “Sure, that’s what everyone does.” This was all part of the script they practiced. She had this.

“Now, I know some of your background already, but let’s go over it for the viewers today,” Gail continued, eager. She glanced to the audience as if making sure they were listening especially. “You’re twenty-three years old, you were involved in the Battle for Los Angeles… but you’re a civilian, correct?”

“Yes, though I was more involved in the minor fight at Plumas than the real Los Angeles battle,” Danny explained. She was certain no one would believe that she fought anywhere though; she knew she looked frailer than she was.

“And you live at the NEST Plumas Base now?” Gail asked. “Along with Autobots?”

Danny nodded. “Yes, plus other humans. I live with my friends, who are both humans and mechs.” She was careful not to put up any numbers; Ferguson was adamant that definite numbers were bad to share over the airwaves, in case their enemies were listening.

Gail smiled and bobbed her head. “How did you get there? I mean, the Autobots are supposed to be closely watched on Earth after all. How did you as a civilian end up living with them?”

“Uh, well, it’s… um… complicated.” Danny laughed when Gail made an incredulous face. “I mean, it’s not anything bad. It was just incidental. I ended up meeting some of the Autobots by chance. Well, I actually met only one of them first. Wheeljack. He was like my adopted dad. I ended up meeting my human friends and transformer friends about the same time. There’s only a small group of us, though, in our family.”

At the mention of a mech fostering her, Gail’s jaw dropped and she seemed both impressed and shocked, as did their audience. “Wow… What are they like? I mean, we’ve all seen the few aliens who show up with the NEST directors, but almost no civilians have ever reported getting close to them.” She abruptly laughed. “Well, except that little incident with you and that one Autobot back in April!”

The audience also chuckled and Danny had to laugh with them. “Ha, right. That was Wildrider. He wished he could have come over today too, but he wouldn’t fit in the studio.” She shrugged as she tried to answer Gail’s question while the audience laughed. “The aliens are just like humans, honestly. I mean, they’re not squishy, duh, but they’re can be funny, scary, nice, adorable… my friend Jazz—he’s one of the mechs who’s up to become one of the Earth ambassadors—he’s got a crazy sense of humor. Ratchet, uh, who’s the chief medical officer for the Autobots, he says Jazz is sort of a like a frat boy.”

Danny paused. “Um. I still don’t exactly know what that means, but I guess most people in this country would.” She hoped it was not a bad word. She didn’t trust Ratchet’s judgment. The laughter from the audience seemed to tell her it was okay.

“Oh, so where are you from?” Gail asked, folding her hands on her lap as she continued to look delightfully interested.

“Um… we’re not exactly sure,” Danny replied. She laughed when Gail seemed confused by that. “My parents were killed when I was a baby, so we sort of just called me ‘miscellaneous’ and went from there. My fiancé, Barns, he always said I was probably from a Spanish-Muslim background, but I don’t mind being ‘miscellaneous.’”

Gail’s eyes pinched tight with sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry about your parents, Danny.”

“Huh?” Danny blinked. “Oh, don’t worry! I had a good family to grow up, all things considered. Wheeljack was the best dad to have. He was always there for me when I was a baby, so I couldn’t have been happier.” She smiled fondly, wishing she had thought to bring that polaroid picture of their group to share with the show. There hadn’t been time to grab it. “He probably would have loved talking on shows like this to let people know more about us. He died a couple of years ago, though.”

“I’m so sorry.” Gail’s sympathetic expression didn’t remain static, however; she abruptly looked confused about something. “Ah… he  _ raised _ you?”

“Oh, yes. He was a great dad,” Danny replied, laughing a little. Oh, she had had the best dad ever, as far as she was concerned. “All of my friends are great. I had to get a closer glimpse of the war than most people have, but we made do. I mean, Jazz always said—”

“Wait, Danny, I have a question,” Gail interrupted. Danny saw, though Gail was smiling, the interviewer was suddenly intrigued by something. “Y-you’re saying that you’ve known that Autobot—Wheeljack—your whole life?”

“Yes!” Danny replied, cheerful.

“But—I’m confused. Aren’t you twenty-three?”

Danny stared at the older woman, eyes a tad wider and mouth opened in surprise.

“What?” she asked, startled.

Gail smiled at Danny, but that glimmer of suspicion didn’t fade. “You just said that you were raised by Wheeljack,” she said calmly, “so doesn’t that mean you knew him for over twenty years? I thought the Autobots had only arrived three years ago.”

A tiny part of Danny’s brain went, “ _ Oh _ .”

It was her mouth that eloquently added, “Shit.”

A flurry of events happened almost instantly—including the producer cutting out the unintentional swear from the broadcasted show, Gail leaning forward almost like she was about to start eating Danny, and the audience started to murmur amongst themselves. Agent Ferguson immediately held his phone up then and hit a speed dial number, his face pale. 

Inwardly, Danny realized she had messed up. A lot.

“So is it true then?” Gail asked, eyes brimming with eagerness. “The Autobots were here before three years ago? Does that mean the government lied about their presence here? Or did the Autobots lie?”

“No…” Danny began, words failing her. She eyed Agent Ferguson by the end of the stage, but he was just staring back, equally taken back. What the hell would they do now?

“Then what is it?” Gail persisted.

Danny hesitated. “N-nobody lied. I…” She swallowed nervously and glanced to Agent Ferguson, who was still anxiously waiting with his phone. “Umm, I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk about it.”

“Why not?” Gail asked, intrigued.

“Because…” Danny felt her face heat up as she struggled to come up with answers fast enough. “Well, I’m not entirely sure.”

“Military secrets are one thing, but is this related to the military?” Gail demanded. She edged even closer, almost barely on her seat anymore. “The American people asked Director Keller and the heads of the NEST organization for the truth. That would be they lied, or were being lied to, wouldn’t it?”

Danny knew this was becoming out of control. “Nobody  _ lied _ . We…” She fought for words. “Ah… we weren’t…  _ with _ … NEST. They weren’t… I mean… ah…”

Gail’s eyes sparkled like a mech’s optic. “When did the Autobots come here?” The audience was murmuring.

“2007,” Danny said, helplessly. She kept hoping Ferguson would leap down into the stage.

“But you said—”

“I never said  _ I _ was here in 2007!” Danny interrupted, though it was rude. She was just so flustered. She continued on, hoping to say something to get the crazed woman to stop asking question. “We came here by accident! Wheeljack wanted us to get out of Europe, so we had to come here. It was an accident that we landed  _ here  _ specifically, though.”

All at once, the glimmer in Gail’s eyes died as she realized what Danny had just said. Danny tried to catch her breath.

“Where did you come from?” Gail asked, eyes narrowed, yet again picking out the single statement that Danny realized she really, really shouldn’t have said.

“Earth. But a  _ different _ one.” Agent Ferguson was talking on his cell phone now and was casting Danny wild looks frequently. Danny clenched her fists. “Look, it’s really confusing, I know, but the Autobots came here in  _ 2007 _ . But  _ we’re _ from 2054, okay? Wheeljack found me when I was only two and had to take care of me when my mother was killed by drones when the Autobots lost the war!”

Gail stopped staring at her creepily. Instead, a stunned look replaced her eagerness. A very startled stunned look.

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

Danny sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know, ask Jazz!” she exclaimed, now completely at a loss at how to fix this. “They said they didn’t want to make people upset about the time travel thing so they never mentioned it before, but it wasn’t  _ our _ fault. It just happened!”

Gail peered closer, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

“ _Time_ _travel_?” she repeated.

Agent Ferguson abruptly made a cutting gesture at his throat and Danny whimpered.

Oh, Primus, what had she done?

**0000**

Approximately eight hours later, the Plumas base was alive with absolute madness. 

Jazz wasn’t exactly in the best of moods when he got the news that Danny had _again_ been caught up in a public relations nightmare, only a few minutes after he and Arcee had touched back down on Plumas. He had been more upset, of course, that Woodstock and Lennox had sent her off base, without a mech, and plunked her down into the seat a professional respresentative should have taken.

It was supposed to be easy, since Danny had already been a PR success, so-to-speak. The public thought she had been cute. Woodstock thought they could just use her face to sell a basic story about humans interacting with mechs.

What none of them had been expecting was Danny accidentally spilling the beans on possibly the greatest secret NEST had been aiming to keep quiet. Jazz blamed Woodstock for that one. Blame wasn’t getting anything done now, however. All they had was chaotic shouting in the hangar bay.

_ I cannot  _ wait _ ‘til Keller hears this one _ , Jazz thought darkly as he listened to Danny crying and the NEST officials panicking. The old man probably had and likely had to be physically restrained from hopping on a plane to scream at them in person. 

“How are we supposed to fix this? !” Lennox said, his arms going up and down in frantic motions. “Jesus  _ Christ _ , the interview is  _ everywhere _ ! We can’t even order a cease and desist on the news channel that broadcast it now! It’s all over the Internet!”

“Danny, you look weird under studio lighting,” Jolt said conversationally, peering at a hologram repeating the ill-fated news interview above his arm. “Your skin gets really light.”

Danny was curled up on Hound's transformed hood, sniffling her way through several tissues offered by a tired-looking Barns. Poor Hound had felt bad for her earlier apparently and was now trapped. Jazz sent him a quiet _thanks_ for the emotional assistance.

“This is  _ serious _ !” Lennox shouted, causing Jolt to frown. He ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “Oh, God, we’re going to be raked over the coals for this one. Frank, this was the dumbest idea you ever had!”

“I would prefer to share the blame,” Woodstock offered airily, raising his hand. “I alone was not responsible.” Lennox glared at him.

Prowl, as always, didn’t flinch at all during the whole debacle. “We are going to be challenged publicly until we have an official statement released,” he said calmly. “Not to mention having Keller or myself make such an announcement would appear suspicious. It would be best if one of the time travelers came forward, if only to make our attempts appear sincere.”

“I don’t  _ want _ to go back on TV!” Danny exclaimed, frantic. She buried her face into her hands, curling up more on Hound's hood where she had been sitting in abject misery. “This is all my fault! I’m going to be arrested!”

“No, you’re  _ not _ ,” a collective of voices—Jazz, Lennox, Prowl and Barns—said at once. None of them seemed to get through to the woman.

“You’re not going back on anyway,” Epps said, shaking his head. He had literally just come in from his flight and looked exhausted. “It was a mistake sending ya.”

He froze when Jazz, Barns and Prowl collectively scowled at him, and Danny proceeded to wail more apologies. She had been incredibly upset over the whole thing as it was.

“I meant, none of you  _ civilians _ shoulda had to go on!” Epps immediately said, trying to undo the damage. He sighed heavily. “Danny, you could do a great job making the world like us, but you weren’t trained for this sort of interview. We should have sent someone who knew how to keep certain intel outta the conversation—”

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone stopped. Turning, mech and humans alike found a blond woman standing there behind Jazz. Rachel, still wearing part of her flight suit, was scowling, her arms crossed against her chest, looking like she was about to enter a fight.

“Rachel?” Prowl asked, surprised.

She glared at them all. “I am not going on TV. Fuck that. I’m a terrible talker and they’d have to censor every other word, I know.” She paused. “But I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Woodstock asked, eyebrows raised.

She glared at him specifically, pointing with her finger. “Get me access to any major printed news publication and find one that really stands out, that gets a lot of visibility and credibility,” she said. “I’m going to write an article. A short, simple explanation.”

Jazz felt his visor widen. What was she…?

Lennox frowned. “About…?”

“Everything,” Rachel said. “Who we are, what we went through, and how we got here.”

“I don’t know. Won’t more information be worse?” Barns asked, nervous.

“They’re expecting us to hide everything,” Rachel continued, turning her glare to him. “So give them everything. It’ll make us look better.”

“How do you know that?” Prowl asked, visibly intrigued.

“I lived in a camp for a while where the leaders never shared the information they had on defenses or drone locations. In turn, anyone outside of their little circle, which was made up of all men by the way, didn’t trust a single word those idiots told us,” Rachel said. She hesitated. “Trust me… just tell the truth. It won’t hurt anybody. I mean, really, after the alien exposure, you’d think time travel would be the least of everyone’s concerns.”

“It’s going to throw the entire scientific world into chaos,” Woodstock said, bluntly. He wasn’t saying no, of course, Jazz noted. “Not to mention the religious community. Alternative universes aren’t exactly Judeo-Christian concepts and they’re not going to like it.”

“They don’t have to like it,” Rachel shot back. “They just have to accept we’re telling the truth. They don’t even have to accept  _ what _ we’re telling them. Just… let them know we’re being as honest as we can.”

Jazz chuckled. “I agree. This might be our best plan.”

“Give me a few days,” Rachel said, still terribly severe. “I don’t know if I can fix it, but maybe this will do something.”

Jazz glanced over at Woodstock and Lennox, both men clearly upset with themselves more than with Danny. Neither said no, so when Jazz looked at Prowl, he wasn’t surprised to see his mate nod at Rachel.

“Maybe,” Prowl agreed. “Thank you, Rachel.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” his step-daughter said, scoffing. She waved her hand in the air as she turned. “This might just make things worse, too. Don’t bug me ‘til I’m done.”

Prowl sent Jazz a controlled look and the other mech just offered a grim smile. That was about as good as they were going to get from this.

“I’m never going outside again,” Danny sniffled.

Jazz and Prowl both sighed so heavily, their frames rattled.

**0000**

**_Surviving Armageddon_ **

By Rachel Cooper

_ TWENTY-TWO years ago, I was born to Sarah and Kyle Cooper in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains in Northern Spain. I had two older sisters named Amy and Susanne.  _

_ They’re all dead now. Or maybe it would be more appropriate to say they never existed in the first place. _

_ We were not an average family nor we were native Spanish. My parents came from the remains of what the world knows as New York City, in America. I have never seen New York, but I did see newspapers later in life, showing how the united efforts of the humans and Autobots could not save it from absolute destruction. _

_ My name is Rachel Cooper and I am not from this world. I am human and lived with humans until I was just shy of ten years of age. It was then that I had met the first aliens who had not tried to kill me on sight. Usually when I ran into aliens, or what we called drones, they obliterated any and all life forms unlucky enough to walk across them. These new aliens had been mechs: a Decepticon named Thundercracker and an Autobot named Jazz.  _

_ I joined them in traveling because I had been sick of hiding with other humans without any means of protection. Thundercracker was too unhappy and Jazz was too cheerful, but they were enough to guarantee me protection from the drones and anything else other there. Like cannibals. We had those living out in the wilderness, if you weren’t careful. The two mechs had found each other ten years before and teamed up to survive, since the drones hunted them down just the same as human life. No one was safe, not even old enemies. _

_ We later met more travelers. Wheeljack was an Autobot who had raised an orphaned human named Danielle Elizabeth, who was only a year older than myself. Wildrider was next; he was a Decepticon who had suffered severe psychological damage because of the drones’ attacks on his old team. We ran into the Decepticon Vortex and the humans Barnaby Rancourt and Piers Goddard on the road. _

_ We lost Goddard when I was sixteen. It was the first time I had ever learned it was acceptable to grieve the loss of a friend. Until that point, I had never admitted any of these beings—alien or human—were friends. I had learned as a child that friendship was just a liability. I was lucky enough to realize how wrong that was, even if losing a man I cherished as family had dragged our entire group down into a horrible depression for nearly a year. _

_ But then, we ran into the two final members of our wayward party: Bluestreak, an Autobot, and Kassandra Hall, a survivor of a horrendous drone attack that had taken away her entire family and camp. We didn’t realize it then, the eleven of us, that we had assembled what would become our family. _

_ The mechs call it a “gestalt.” In a gestalt, the members are brothers and sisters who are so innately connected in spirit, they could read each other’s emotions and minds even in the heat of battle. _

_ Well, I couldn’t read any of my gestalt’s minds, and I still can’t, but we grew together in a similarly close way. Jazz and Thundercracker are and will forever be the parents my own weren’t able to be. The eleven of us fought, defended, and traveled together for over ten years total. We were a family. _

_ And then, three years ago according to your world’s time frame, we found a space-bridge, or a teleporter, abandoned in the mountains by Cybertronian scientists. I should say now, we thought we found a space-bridge. We came up with a crazy plan courtesy of Wheeljack, to use it to warp down to Africa. We thought that maybe the drones hadn’t populated down there in the jungles as much as they had elsewhere. _

_ Wheeljack had lied to us, in the end, but I can’t say I blame him. He hid the fact the machine was actually a time machine, because someone had to stay behind to close the gateway. He knew any one of us would have stayed behind instead of him, so he made it seem like we all would be going on the trip. We had no idea. _

_ The drones attacked us without any provocation and we had no choice but to use the machine. Wheeljack did stay behind with the drones and none of us dare to think he survived. He died to send us to a different time, one before the war had truly taken hold on Earth. He succeeded—to a degree. He sent us to the year 2009 by modern calendars, straight into NEST’s lap. _

_ This was a time before Galvatron had risen. This was a world ignorant to the Autobots and Decepticons alike still. This was your world, three years ago. _

_ But there were still lingering questions that left everyone, even the Autobots, scratching their helms. Who built the space-bridge, time-machine, whatever it was? We knew two scientists had been missing from the graveyard left behind by the eight creators, so they could have been in this world too, unknown to both us and to NEST.  _

_ Bad things happened in between the beginning of the war for Earth and the end of it. The drones, which your generation has been lucky enough to only know the barest bit of horror of, were rediscovered. Many of NEST’s soldiers were killed, plus other NATO soldiers. The Fallen, the one who resurrected Galvatron and controlled him for the rest of the war, arrived and threatened to turn your beautiful world into the hellish nightmare I had thought we had left behind. _

_ Somehow, we won. Your world was saved from becoming the one in which I had grown up. The Fallen, Galvatron and the drones are all dead. It took a long, long time for that to sink in. Even now, I wake up and wonder if this world is a dream I made up. I certainly hope it isn’t. _

_ We did find out who the scientists were. They helped to save this world, perhaps more accidentally than they had hoped. Wheeljack had learned of them through the machine’s files, so he had known they were trying to reach a place like this to save, before the worst happened once more. Both you and I should be grateful to them for that. _

_ It is impossible to believe that so much of your world has changed, or at least, how you interpret your world has changed. I make no apologies for coming here, nor stepping forward now to be upfront about this gossip. _

_ Wheeljack sent us here to save our lives. I owe him everything for that. We all do. This world is frighteningly different from ours, but in good ways, I have to admit. I’ve never had hot water before, or a bed, or the ability to wake up and not have to worry about running for my life. You all have so much food in this country I now live in. It’s mind-boggling. The cars, the electricity, the lack of fear—you are all so lucky. Now we are too, to be here. _

_ Many of the people I have heard talking about this, or the stories I have read about that TV interview gone wrong, have focused on “what does this mean?” I will tell you what this means, as one of the very time travelers that have shaken things up for you: _

_ It means nothing. _

_ Your world is how it is. You are not missing anything, believe me, by not having the ending my world had. Your world doesn’t have an ending now. It can keep going forever, or that’s what it feels like, if you guys start to take care of yourselves better. To try and debate whether or not we made a mistake coming here and breaking your laws of time like that is like arguing whether or not it’s a good thing the sun is there to keep us warm, or that water is good for keeping life alive here. It’s already happening and it’s already happened. _

_ I am not from this world, but I am glad I came here. I am glad my family came, too. I am glad for the sacrifices Goddard and Wheeljack made for us to reach this point. I can only hope that you all will understand that this universe is much larger than just this planet. It’s much larger than any one of us—and there is plenty of room for all of us to share in a time of peace and hope like this. _

**0000**

_ Several Days Later _

Vortex had been of little help in the end writing the damn article, but Rachel had been confident at first after she handed it into Prowl to send to Woodstock. She knew it’d be edited heavily, but it hadn’t really crossed her mind of what she had done until days later.

“Why did I volunteer? !” she asked, horrified as she and Vortex settled for the night in their room. “Everyone’s going to read it!”

“I thought that was the point?” Vortex asked, frowning at her. He never wore his mask up when they were alone there.

Rachel ignored him, pulling at her hair. “Fuck! I hate everything I wrote now. It’s garbage. I can’t believe I did that. Why didn’t you stop me? !”

“Um,” Vortex said, which Rachel also ignored as she ranted.

Vortex had tried to calm her down, as had Jazz, TC and eventually their human friends when they realized she was panicking over it. No word from Woodstock about the publication only made her more anxious until it almost—almost—faded from her memory. 

Sitting there at breakfast with Barns, Kass, Miles, and Danny, Rachel had barely noticed Jazz and Woodstock approaching. When she spotted the grins on both of their faces, she tensed up, waiting for some kind of prank.

It was only after she realized Jazz’s grin was a proud one that she noticed the large cardboard box in Woodstock’s arms. 

“Guess what I just saw on the front of  _ Time  _ headed out to stores today,” the older man said, startling them all. He hauled the box up onto the table with a heavy thud. “Grab a copy, guys, they sent a box full.”

“Wow!” Danny gasped, as he tipped it over and spilled out dozens of shiny magazines. Rachel’s eyes widened and she lunged for a copy.

“Sweet!” Miles said. He grabbed one of the issues and grinned at the shiny cover’s surface. “Good job, favorite niece ever.” Rachel rolled her eyes.

“What kind of picture is—oh, my goodness!” Kass gasped. She held the article up closer, staring at the cover in surprise. “It’s our picture!”

The cover on the magazine was a slightly blurred image of a group of humans and mechs standing close together. Rachel recognized it immediately: their family portrait taken (technically) fifty years in the future, on a Polaroid camera. It was one of the few things they had salvaged from their other lives and managed to bring with them. It was their only remaining piece of Wheeljack, too. It meant everything to them, even as a ratty old picture.

Rachel’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t send them that!”

“I did,” Jazz admitted, chuckling. He leaned closer, over her shoulder. “They said it complimented the theme well. Plus, you know, evidence to support the story.”

“…I guess.” Rachel peered at the picture critically. “Wow, we look like shit.” Years of living in the luxury of this earth had given them better maintenance of their hair and skin, naturally. In hindsight, they looked filthy in the photo.

Still, Rachel almost preferred what she had looked like before as a teenager. It was more _her_ than straight clean hair ever had been.

“Who cares!” Danny said. She grinned and bumped into her friend’s shoulder. “You’re in print, Rachel!”

“I guess,” Rachel said, her face heating up. She smiled anyway.

There was a pause, as several of the humans read through it quickly. Rachel’s eyes darted across each paragraph, spotting issues and problems with lines that she wished she could take back now. 

But it was there. She could barely believe she was holding it in her own hands.

“It’s a beautiful story, Rachel,” Barns said, smiling back at her. “We’re proud of you.”

Everyone hummed in agreement and Rachel almost couldn’t stand the praise. She kept looking at the pile of magazines, her writing directly on the cover. Many people would read it, she realized.

As much as that was driving her anxiety through the roof, it was still...oddly comforting.

“It was a really good read, kiddo,” Jazz added. “Prowl and the other mechs liked it too.”

“Yeah, I liked it as well,” Kass said. “It was almost like you were reprimanding everyone for freaking out.”

“Good. That was the point,” Rachel said, scowling. “I’m sure they’ll just freak out more.”

“It’s gotten good early reviews,” Woodstock told them, eyes glued to his Blackberry as he scrolled on it. “Yeah. Trending on Twitter. You might get asked for some interviews yourself.”

“Nope,” Rachel replied without a second thought. Jazz chuckled and tapped her head gently, his version of tousling her hair in affection.

All the attention made her queasy but there was something exhilarating about staring at all of her work there on the table in bright red, black and white text. Rachel found herself staring at the polaroid reprinted on the cover. There was so much in it—so many memories of their lives before coming to this new Earth. Wheeljack, her parents and sisters, Goddard—

Rachel took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“I was thinking, though…” she began, hesitating. “Maybe I’ll write something else.”

Danny looked up, surprised. “Like what?”

“A book,” Rachel said. She hesitated again. “About this. About us.”

Jazz’s visor widened. “A full book?”

“Y-yeah. It was just an idea.” Rachel squirmed under everyone’s attention, especially Woodstock’s almost too-eager expression. “It’d help explain the Autobots more. Plus the war itself. It’d cut out a lot of questions. People can shut up and just read it instead of harassing us for stupid details and all.”

“True. An’ we wouldn’t have that big of a time constraint like we had with this situation,” Jazz said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “We’d have time to edit it, fer any problems.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Simmons and Galloway, but I like this idea,” Woodstock said, smirking her way. “I gotta make some calls, but good job, kid.”

“What would you call it?” Kass asked, as they returned to their meal, though Barns kept reading through the article.

“Probably the same title as the article,” Rachel said, shrugging.

“ _ Surviving Armageddon _ ?” Barns repeated, looking up at her.

She shrugged again. “I dunno. I can’t think of anything clever for a title,” she said. It was to the point, at least.

“What about  _ Fallout _ ?” Miles suggested, back to chewing his sandwich loudly.

“Are you kidding?” Rachel snapped, rolling her eyes. “That’s so fucking cliché. I like  _ Surviving Armageddon _ for now.”

“Aww, come on," he said. "Like nuclear fallout, but also, like, the emotional kind. It totally works.”

“What are you, a book critic now?”

"Don't speak to your uncle like that."

Rachel bantered with her friends, each other throwing around an idea for a title or sections of their shared story to add. 

As they did, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, realizing that maybe, they were right. Maybe she could write more about them all. It wasn’t fun to relive everything, even just through words, but…

It was their story. It was worth being told, she realized. 

It was worth telling.

**0000**

**Epilogue**

Five weeks after the _Time_ magazine article was published, Prowl had assumed their PR troubles were done with. The most damaging secret—the time travelers—was out. As far as the tactician knew, that was enough for their image. He preferred it that way. He needed to focus on protecting the Earth and his people, not pandering to press results.

Still, Prowl was glad it was all done with and none of those under his protection were in further trouble. He had turned to his work, relieved for the monotony, and hadn’t expected any further interruptions.

“Prowl!” a cheerful voice called, followed by a faint knock.

He looked up from a datapad and saw at the base of her office door a tiny figure. Danny was grinning and waving up at him, in far brighter spirits than she had been after the incident on TV. Prowl sat up, giving her his undivided attention. She had rarely stopped by his office with concerns, though the friendly woman often stopped by every office often, “just to check in.” It was a nice sentiment, if not a little pointless. Prowl decided to appreciate it anyway.

“Hello, Danny,” he said, politely. He tilted his helm, noting how happy the young woman seemed. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, I just wanted to tell you the good news!” Danny said, practically skipping closer.

Prowl’s doorwings went up, curious. “Good news?”

“I was talking with Woodstock and how my interview only messed up because I didn’t know what not to talk about,” Danny said, speaking extraordinarily fast for an organic, “and he said that it probably would be good to capitalize on how everyone liked me.”

That certainly sounded like Woodstock. Prowl hesitated. “I...don’t understand. What do you mean, capitalize on that? On what?”

“He gave me this!” she said, holding up the black box in her hands. “It’s a video camera!”

“A video camera,” Prowl said.

“Yeah. Woody’s going to help me start up a Youtube site to make little videos about us and our lives,” Danny said, still grinning. “He said I have a natural talent. He’s really nice. I think it could be fun. I love movies!”

“What,” Prowl said, his processors coming up with very little else.

“I’m gonna go show Rachel now. I know she didn’t want to be on TV, but maybe she’ll have some ideas for informative episodes,” the human continued. “Wildrider’s really excited, too!”

“What,” Prowl said.

Danny beamed at him and then rushed from the room, gleefully headed off to tell someone else presumably.

Prowl stared at the open door.

A moment passed. A shuffling sound of footsteps returning. Danny then poked her head back around the edge of the door.

“What’s a Youtube?” she asked, as her tiny, organic eyes narrowed faintly.

Prowl stared at her and then shuttered his optics. He could not get a headache, an affliction that plagued Keller far too often, but he could almost appreciate the feeling. Almost.

_ ::Jazz..:: _

_ ::’Sup?:: _

_ ::My office. Now.:: _

 

**End** **_Unwanted Exposure_ ** **.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next** : Danny uses her new fame to capture a fun moment among the Plumas mechs. Fun, of course, meaning chaos and a bad day for Prowl. (And it’s actually finished and will be updated next week!)
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -Danny, you may have a career! So do you, Rachel. Also, ‘sup story cameo within the story. FALLOUTCEPTION.  
> -Gail was inspired by a character from my favorite horror film series ever.


	11. Truth or Dare (Post-Series)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallout: Adaptions  
> “Truth or Dare”  
> by Nan00k
> 
> This was written for my long-time beta, Shantastic, for her birthday a few years ago (if you can believe it). :) It’s a very silly story, but hey, you’ve come to expect this, haven’t you.
> 
> There are some “spoilers” for future chapter installments in this chapter, but nothing terribly major.
> 
> This takes place after Danny goes viral, so to speak, so that’s why she has her camera with her. I’m warning you now: this is total silliness!
> 
> **Overall Warnings** : canon character/OC, character deaths, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters  
>  **Disclaimer** : Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling stories.

  
Camera in hand, Danny crossed the threshold of the tiny room Bluestreak and Kass shared on their shuttle home. It was a tight fit for everyone, but it was the safest place for right now. If Prowl or Lennox caught wind of their game, Sideswipe had warned her, they would have called it off. It was too personal and too fun, the frontliner had said, mocking their commanders. Danny didn’t know if she agreed that neither Prowl nor Lennox understood fun, but they certainly would have reservations about the game. At least Woodstock would like this, but he was in London right now.

Her plan was simple: get a few mechs (Trailbreaker, Hound, Jolt, Bluestreak and Sideswipe had been off duty and willing), plus a few humans (Rachel and Barns had agreed to help since Kass was working with Ratchet), and settle everyone down for maybe an hour worth of game play. She had her regular camera ready to use for the occasion, because this wasn’t just about playing Truth or Dare.

Ever since Prowl, Woodstock, and Keller green-lit her Youtube channel  _ Get to Know ‘Bot-Us _ , Danny had felt she was successful in doing public relations work with the people of Earth. Millions of people had visited her page and most of the comments had been positive. Humanity liked seeing the Autobots in a casual setting and Danny did her best to give them as much access as possible for them to know these aliens weren’t really robots. It seemed to work, and Danny actively tried to think of new ways to connect to their audience.

Sideswipe had suggested they play Truth or Dare in the rec room earlier that week, but that had appealed to Danny for an episode. It was a dangerous game, maybe, considering just who would be playing, but it could be funny. And funny, Danny had learned in the last six months, sold spectacularly online.

The last person to arrive was Jolt, who had to sneak past Ironhide in order to get to Bluestreak’s room, since they didn’t want the officers involved. With the mechs taking up ninety percent of the floor and berth space, the humans climbed up to the desk and Danny set the camera up there carefully. She was still learning how to use the technology, but it wasn’t difficult. Getting everyone into the frame was still interesting…

“Let’s play,” Sideswipe complained impatiently. Rachel had taken a book out to read during the wait.

Danny huffed. “I’m working as fast as I can.” She didn’t really have a script to start with, so she had to think up a quick opener as she finished tinkering with the tripod.

After several minutes of nitpicking the position, Danny turned and gave her friends the cue that they were starting. It wasn’t live, so she could edit it later. Actually, she mused, she’d  _ have _ to edit it, even if she got her lines flawlessly.

This game… would need a lot of censoring. Otherwise, Prowl would glitch, Woodstock would curse a lot, and Danny would have to answer to Keller. And he wasn’t very nice when he got angry.

Camera light on, Danny stood back and waved into the dark lens, knowing her friends were paying the camera attention now, too.

“Welcome, Youtube, to the first ever  _ Get to Know ‘Bot-Us _ special! My name is Danny, in case you’re new. Anyway, today, I’ve organized a game with some of my Autobot and human friends, for everyone to really get a chance to know who we are,” she said cheerfully. She motioned behind her at the circle of mech and humans. “Today, we’re playing ‘Truth or Dare.’ It’s the first time some of our mech friends are playing this. Actually, it’s the first time most of them have even heard of it, but we’ll teach it to them.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Trailbreaker rumbled. Hound laughed.

Danny grinned. “Don’t. It’s not too crazy. Well, with Sideswipe and Barns, we’re sort of doomed, but don’t worry anyway,” she said, making Jolt laugh. Danny hastily pointed around their circle. “Now, let’s introduce everyone. The dark armored mech is Trailbreaker. Beside him is Sideswipe, then Bluestreak, and Jolt is the blue one on the end. Up here on the human-safe desk is my fiancé Barns and our friend Rachel. And of course on this end, the handsome green guy is Hound. You guys know him.”

“Howdy!” the dark green mech called, as friendly as always. He was  still  famous for his official appearances with Keller, even years later.

“Oh, Primus,” Sideswipe sighed. Jolt snickered.

Sidestepping the teasing, Danny waved her hands excitedly. “Okay, here’s how we’re playing. We’re starting off at a random person picking the person across from them. After that person does truth or dare, they then move to pick the person on the right hand of the person who asked them the question. We keep going until, well, I’m not sure.” She turned and gave her friends a smile. “But does everyone understand?”

Eyes narrowed, Rachel looked disgruntled. “Why did you make this so complicated?” she demanded. Danny frowned.

“Fine,” she muttered. She pointed at the red mech toward the center of the circle. “Sideswipe, you go first.”

“Oh, God, we’re going to die,” Rachel immediately said.

“Shut up!” Sideswipe shot back. He sniffed indignantly. “I don’t use my best tricks in the first round.”

Danny was counting on Sideswipe, Jolt and Barns to make this funny, but she also shared Rachel’s dread. She hoped they wouldn’t be too offensive. “You’re asking Rachel first,” Danny explained, pointing at the blond woman who looked alarmed. “Then, she picks the person to your right, who happens to be Trailbreaker. He would then ask Barns when it’s his turn to ask. Got it?”

Bluestreak smiled happily. “Okay.” The others nodded, though Hound was still looking uncertain.

“Why not just do it  _ randomly _ ? This makes no sense!” Rachel continued to complain, but Barns hushed her.

“So!” Danny sat down with flourish, hopeful for a smooth beginning. “Let’s get started.”

“Alrighty then…” Sideswipe began, rubbing his hands together dramatically. He leered across the circle at his human target. “Rachel. Truth or dare?”

While distrustful, Rachel fearlessly met her “step-brother’s” grin with a glare. “Truth,” she said. At Barns’ scoff, she pointed around the circle aggressively. “I don’t trust any single one of you mofos.” Trailbreaker laughed loudly at that.

Sideswipe caught their attention by leaning closer. “Is your hair naturally blond?” he asked.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed even more. “Of course not. I dyed it every week while running around the apocalypse,” she snapped, sarcastic. “Are you  _ stupid _ ?  _ Yes _ , it’s natural!”

“Yeah, she’s related to the neurotic blond kid who’s dating Kass,” Jolt added.

“Miles isn’t  _ too _ bad,” Bluestreak said, a bit reluctant.

Danny sighed. At least the question hadn’t been too offensive. “Whatever. Next!” she called. She pointed at her friend. “Rachel, you ask the next person next to Sideswipe.”

That person happened to be Trailbreaker, who smiled politely at Rachel, who was staring at him intensely, obviously thinking hard on her question.

“Truth or dare?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose I’ll go with dare,” Trailbreaker replied, chuckling. “Not much you humans can do to us to embarrass us.”

“Wanna bet?” Danny asked, grinning. She already had a few ideas—

“I dare you,” Rachel began, “to lick Hound’s optic.”

There was a long silence.

“ _ WHAT _ ? !” Sideswipe screeched while Jolt fell over laughing. Trailbreaker had made a harsh grinding sound, like a human might make a gasp.

“You heard me,” Rachel said, smirking mercilessly. She pointed at Trailbreaker and then at Hound. “You guys have tongue-like things. Lick his eyeball.”

_ Let it never be said that she wasn’t Jazz’s daughter _ , Danny thought, even if Thundercracker’s scowl was her more common imitation.

“What the hell is wrong with you? !” Sideswipe continued, now hysterical.

“Hey!” Danny exclaimed. “I don’t want to censor everything you say!”

Trailbreaker looked revolted. “Oh, Primus, are you serious? Can I change to Truth?” he asked, desperately toward Danny.

“Nope!” Rachel told him, smirking wickedly. “Lick it, or chicken out.”

With no one backing him up and Sideswipe giggling madly, Trailbreaker slowly turned his helm and looked at his smaller friend. “…Hound?” he questioned, unsure. Danny wondered if he was asking permission.

Hound was flustered. “Why me?” the tracker complained. He looked torn between amused and actually upset. “If Ratchet hears about this, he’s going to turn us all into spare parts.”

“Well, not me,” Rachel said, grinning confidently. “Sucks for you mechs though.”

“Ugh.” Trailbreaker looked disgruntled. “This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“The best thing I’ve ever  _ SEEN _ ,” Sideswipe crowed, still beside himself. “Or  _ yet _ to see. Get to it!”

His battle mask already retracted, Trailbreaker moved slower toward Hound, who was staring at him with wild dismay. Barns was laughing the whole time, which probably didn’t help, but at least Sideswipe was only watching the whole thing with the eager eyes of a gleeful hawk. Hound didn’t move an inch, the brave mech that he was, even though he looked like he wanted to. Trailbreaker moved painfully slow, which probably only added to the tense silence of the room.

Optics shuttered tightly, Trailbreaker finally was close enough to stick his glossa out (a poor copy for a human tongue, but Danny was sure scientists watching the video would probably wet themselves at the concept anyway) and it touched the outer edge of Hound’s right optic, which Danny was vaguely certain was only open because Hound was too stunned to move.

Danny abruptly realized her jaw was hanging open in a breathless grin the entire time. Sideswipe squealed. Trailbreaker immediately backed away from Hound straight into the berth wall.

“ _ There _ !” Trailbreaker made a horrid face, which was odd for him, since he didn’t often partake in Jazz or Wildrider’s habit of mimicking human facial expressions. Hound was busy shielding his shuttered optics while the other mechs laughed loudly at their expense. “Primus above, you guys are  _ ruthless _ . Mirage is gonna kick my aft for that.”

Rachel smirked. “Buddy, I ain’t even started,” she said, surprising Danny. Normally she hated these games, but maybe she was just in a competitive mood. She pointed at Trailbreaker. “But it’s now your turn.”

Despite being visibly discomforted, Trailbreaker always was one of the more easy-going mechs and was quick to forgive. “Right,” he muttered. He looked up at the desk. “That would be Barns I’m asking.”

“Oh, goody,” Barns replied, still amused by the previous antics. He pursed his lips, considering. “I pick… dare.”

Jolt laughed. “Brave man.” He was, Danny mused, since now all bets were off when it came to ridiculous dares. They couldn’t expect what would happen next now.

“Okay. I dare you to… hmm.” Trailbreaker peered at the human with a scrutinizing visor. “I saw you do a backflip before.”

Barns laughed loudly. “Ha! Want me to do that here? I’ll do it on the floor, not up high.” The table they were on was too high to consider doing such tricks on.

“No, not that,” Trailbreaker replied. He pointed at the desktop. “I dare you to walk on your hands. The length of the desk.”

Danny held a hand up to her face. “Ooooh.” Bluestreak and Jolt both looked up with interest; human flexibility was always a source of amusement for the mechs, who simply weren’t anywhere near as bendable as humans were.

Despite the mild danger of the heights involved, Barns stood up and seemed just as amused as his friends. “Ha, okay, I can do that,” he said genially. He clasped his hands together. “I think. Give me space.”

Rachel and Danny backed up to the back of the desk to give Barns room, while Bluestreak and Hound took positions at either end of the desk, just in case Barns tipped over near the ledges. Danny was nervous watching the man tip forward so close to the edge of the table, but within only two tries, he was upside down. Jolt and Bluestreak were amused by the trick, while Sideswipe and Trailbreaker looked mildly disturbed; to them, it must have seemed unnatural.

At a hilarious pace, Barns made it across the table only on his hands. His friends cheered him on after he almost tipped to the side about half way across, but Danny was happy when he finally got to Hound’s side of the desk and gracefully tipped his feet back to the ground.

“Whew!” he exclaimed. His face was red from being upside down, but he smiled at Trailbreaker, looking for his approval. “Did I succeed?”

“Yeah.” The dark mech shook his helm, bemused. “Sigma, human bodies are weird.”

“We’re  _ flexible _ ,” Danny reminded him.

“My turn to ask!” Barns said. His gaze shifted to the right of Trailbreaker. “Ah, Hound. Truth or Dare?”

“Primus protect me,” Hound prayed, glancing upwards jokingly before he looked back at the brown haired man. “Truth.”

Barns’ smile turned into a grin. “Is it true you punched Optimus Prime in the face?”

“Whoa,  _ what _ ?” Jolt exclaimed, stunned. Sideswipe again cracked up, while Danny herself momentarily choked. “Why have I never heard this story?”

Hound, however, did not seem nearly as amused as the others did. “I—wait, how did ya hear about  _ that _ ? !” he demanded, horrified.

“I have my sources,” Barns replied simply. “Namely, Jazz. But anyway, is it true?”

There was a pause. Every eye and optic was on poor Hound, who seemed to grow smaller and small under the attention. A brief mental struggle flashed through his optics.

“…Yes,” he admitted, sounding meek. Bluestreak gasped.

“ _ How _ ? !” Rachel demanded, baffled. “He has, like, six feet on you!”

All at once, Hound began to ramble. “We were under attack, b’fore Iacon had fallen!” he exclaimed hurriedly. “I had gone out t’give th’ frontliners more cover, but we had t’fall back. I turned a corner around a debris pile an’ he just sorta came up outta no where. I lashed out. Luckily, it was superficial, an’ he hardly gave it no attention.” The tracker ran a hand over his faceplates, the closest to blushing from embarrassment Danny had ever seen a mech be. “Primus, I musta apologized fer decaorns.”

Despite the fact Sideswipe, Barns, and Jolt were laughing over it, and the rest of the group were equally amused but held their laughter back for Hound’s sake, no one really knew how to respond to the story. Danny was glad they had this moment, even if it was embarrassing for poor Hound; it definitely showed a human side to the mechs.

“I’m still in awe you managed to hit him in the face,” Rachel admitted, eyes narrowed. “How did you  _ reach _ ?” The height difference was pretty poignant.

Hound grimaced. “I’m not even sure,” he muttered, sheepish.

Barns and Sideswipe cracked up again. Danny giggled behind her hand and was sincerely glad they were recording this, just for their own memory keeping.

“Ha, ha,” Hound grouched. “My turn. Jolt, truth or dare?”

They continued around the circle quickly. Jolt chose to do his own shortly lived hand-stand, Bluestreak told an (irritatingly) long story about his first love affair with some security ‘bot which had sent Danny, Rachel, and Barns covering their ears in mild horror, and Sideswipe completed the first round by choosing to prank call a local TV station by pretending to be Sector-7 trying to set up an interview, with Agent Simmons’ phone number as the callback number. Danny herself had to throw a handful of ice cubes down her shirt, which had been an ordeal all by itself trying to get the ice from the kitchen without alerting the NEST soldiers. But they had been okay, otherwise.

An odd silence fell over the group once Sideswipe had finished his phone call. Danny bit her lip, trying to think of something to do instead of just ending the game. It seemed so… brief.

“Wanna go another round?” Sideswipe suddenly said, looking mildly hopeful. Most of them had signed up for a single game, but now, everyone seemed interested. Even the ones who had been embarrassed.

Danny grinned enthusiastically. “Sure! We gotta.” Her fans demanded it.

“Right,” Barns joked. He turned to the others. “Sideswipe, truth or dare?”

Another round was had, and it became even sillier. The only really negative thing that had happened was when Jolt challenged Rachel to flash her chest at the camera, but that was quickly voted out (Vortex’s wrath wasn’t worth the joke by any means) so he instead asked her to sing a popular song. By the end of the second round, Bluestreak had signed most of NEST’s officers up for free  _ Pampers _ samples, and Danny had survived the Cinnamon Challenge (they promised to clean the mess up later before Kass got upset about her room being messy.)

Again, they were left at the end of the round feeling oddly disappointed.

“We gotta up the stakes here,” Sideswipe complained. “Let’s make this tougher.”

Danny nodded, though she was a bit worried about going too crazy. They had done okay so far. They hadn’t attracted any of the officers, at least.

Not yet.

“Jolt, truth or dare?” Trailbreaker began, looking down the circle at the mech in question.

“Dare,” the blue Autobot replied, confident.

“I dare you…” the huge dark mech began, visor narrowed, “to dance.”

Jolt frowned. “Dance? That isn’t hard.”

“…behind at least four of the officers on base, provocatively.”

There was another pause. Jolt looked stunned and Sideswipe had frozen with his hands clutched at his faceplates, looking utterly gleeful. Rachel had choked. Bluestreak looked torn between asking a question and simply giggling.

“You sick slagger,” Jolt swore. He grinned. “I’ll do it!”

“Oh, my God,” Barns said, laughing. He covered his face with his hands.

“Guys, I don’t know,” Danny began, nervous. It was pretty funny, though.

“Bonus fer not getting caught,” Hound added, laughing. “Double bonus if ya get Prime.”

Grabbing her camera, Danny nearly fell over laughing at that image. They might get caught, but they’d go down on tape, at least.

**0000**

They had a few officers on Earth. The more obvious ones were Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Prowl. Three out of the four were suicidal to try, and even Optimus probably would have gotten angry if he caught Jolt. However, they had other options. Mirage was head of Special Ops (Hound had shot that idea down quickly, though) and Jazz was a lieutenant now, so he counted. Both would probably catch a prankster in a matter of nano-seconds, however, so they were out, too. 

Danny had ruled out Optimus eventually, since she didn’t think pranking the Autobot leader publically would be good PR (Woodstock had told her that a few months ago, actually). They did have some other officers, like Smokescreen, who was under Prowl in Tactical, and Silverbolt, who was an officer because he was the leader of the Aerialbots. Hot Shot wasn’t on Earth currently.

“Okay, I’m gonna go after Smokescreen first,” Jolt said, whispering to their small group who had followed him. Hound and Bluestreak had agreed to stay behind to avoid drawing a large crowd, while Trailbreaker and Barns were playing watch guards out in the hallway.

Sideswipe frowned. “His doorwings would pick you up in like a second.” That was true, since the doorwings on Praxians were high-powered sensory panels. Danny quickly explained that to the camera.

“I’m gonna keep my distance,” Jolt replied, confident. Poor Smokescreen was inside the command center currently, hooked up to the human computers. He was alone, since Prowl was busy with the humans elsewhere on base and it was lunchtime for any human officers who worked with him.

“Oh, Primus, this is going to end hysterically,” Trailbreaker said. He had laughed more in the last hour than Danny had ever remembered him doing before.

They were very lucky Red Alert had yet to set up security cameras, or else people in charge of monitoring the halls would have seen their oddly large group move toward the command center. Danny had to rush a bit to keep up with Jolt, just to make sure she had him on tape. She wondered, belatedly, what the rest of their NEST friends would say after the video went up. She doubted Smokescreen or the other targeted officers would find Jolt’s prank amusing.

Then again, this was hilarious, so Danny didn’t pay those doubts much heed. She was too busy trying not to laugh as Jolt slipped inside the command center while the rest of them tried to be as quiet as possible a little ways down the hallway. Danny took up the position by the door in order to get the whole thing on camera.

Jolt was a master at distractions, just like Jazz and Sideswipe were. He greeted Smokescreen cheerfully, which Smokescreen did turn around for.

“Just uploading some patrol data for Prowl,” Jolt said. Smokescreen nodded and turned back to his own work. Jolt had pretended to hook into the computer perpendicular to the gray mech, but once Smokescreen had turned around, Jolt immediately turned and started to dance.

Danny had seen just as many music videos as her three closest human friends had, courtesy of other humans on base, or from Jazz’s “human tutoring.” She had never found the more vulgar dance moves attractive (though she marveled at the human ability for bending one’s body into odd shapes), but now… it was hilarious.

Shameless, Jolt began to mimic some of the worst dances Danny remembered seeing online and on  _ MTV _ . Without the music to accompany it, Danny had wondered if it would have the same effect. She was proven wrong by the enthusiastic Jolt, who began to rhythmically sashay behind Smokescreen, with just enough distance between them that Smokescreen’s doorwings didn’t notice the air disturbance.

Barely able to withhold her laughter, Danny wondered how difficult it would be to add music in later to the video files, just to make it even better.

Jolt continued to dance for almost a full minute, hands on his helm, thrusting his hips out toward Smokescreen and alternatively reversing he gesture with his aft. Danny clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, which unfortunately blew Jolt’s cover.

Whirling around, Smokescreen immediately honed in on Jolt, who had hastily finished off his last thrust and threw his arms over his head as if mimicking a human stretch. Smokescreen hesitated at the sight.

“What the  _ Pit _ are you doing?” the Praxian asked, optics narrowed in suspicion. There wasn’t anything accusatory in his tone or posture, so he must have just missed seeing that last dance move.

“Sorry, had to stretch,” Jolt replied, grinning. He swirled out of the room gracefully. “Later, Smokey!”

He skipped past Danny, who barely managed to dodge to the side. She couldn’t hold back her laughter as she stumbled after him. Sideswipe gave him a round of applause while Trailbreaker and the other humans simply cracked up at Jolt elegant bow.

_ One down, three more to go _ , Danny thought cheerfully. 

Their next target found them. Danny had seen Sideswipe’s gaze go to Ironhide when they saw him headed their way out in Hangar B. Jolt went ahead without them, nearly walking past Ironhide’s travel route before he stopped and pretended to only notice Ironhide then.

“Hey, ‘Hide!” Jolt said cheerfully as the older mech passed.

Unsurprisingly, Ironhide didn’t pay him (or polite exchanges) much attention. “Hmph.” He walked straight past the junction where the shuttle and the hangar met, where the rest of their group were waiting in gleeful silence. 

Jolt neatly closed the distance between him and the weapons’ specialist, shimmying into a dance right behind him. Danny was amazed at his stealth; Jazz should have recommended the blue mech for their Special Ops, honestly. For the spectators, they were less subtle. When Jolt started to pretend shake his way up Ironhide’s back while amazing keeping pace with the departing mech, Sideswipe finally cracked, which only set Barns and Trailbreaker off. 

Ironhide whipped around at the laughter and Jolt barely managed to stop dancing in time. He played it off smoothly by pretending to ask the mech about an upcoming weapons drill and Ironhide irritably told him the date, obviously not trusting the laughing group not that far away. Still, Ironhide let Jolt go without questioning the source of the hysterical Lambo in the shuttle entrance. 

Jolt wasn’t nearly as amused when he got up to their group. “Shut up, you’re gonna give me away if you laugh the whole time!” he hissed, mainly at Sideswipe.

Barns was almost in tears. “I can’t… this is too much!” he said, laughing into the crook of his arm as he leaned against the wall. Danny could barely keep the camera still in her hands. Trying to be a non-partial videographer was impossible at this rate.

“Two more!” Trailbreaker announced. He pushed Jolt ahead of them back out toward the hangar and they scouted for another officer.

They found some of the Aerialbots back in the rec room, or rather, the converted Hangar A. Slingshot, Air Raid and Silverbolt were playing video games on the modified Xbox 360 WJ had made up for them. Danny liked the Aerialbots a lot and they seemed to really like Earth culture. For the three on the huge bench-couch thing Hoist had constructed, their attentions were easily ensnared by the games. Danny picked out a corner to set the camera up to watch their expressions as Jolt slid up behind them.

“’Sup, ‘Bots,” Jolt said coyly. 

“Hey,” Silverbolt replied, without even flinching. Neither of his brothers looked up either as Jolt abruptly and silently began to dance behind them. The TV was mesmerizing like that.

“Can you ask the humans to get more video games?” Air Raid asked, oblivious to Jolt sliding and jutting his pelvic region behind his helm. “We’re almost done  _ GTA IV _ .”

“Sure,” Jolt said, never having to take a breath that would have revealed his seamless dancing efforts. Danny made a rather obnoxious sound as he continued to talk calmly. “Oh, hey, I  _ loved _ that mission. Did you steal the ambulance yet—?”

How the  _ hell _ they managed to survive that, Danny wasn’t sure. She had to literally cover her mouth and nose at one point to stop herself from laughing out loud as Jolt danced for nearly a full minute, and the fliers never noticed. Even when Slingshot eventually did look up, Jolt neatly finished a move and covered it smoothly by patting Silverbolt on the shoulder and said his goodbyes. Danny stumbled out after him before the ‘Bots could ask them what the camera was for.

This was turning out to be the best dare yet. Danny gave herself and her friends a moment to collect themselves outside (Rachel and Barns were beside themselves with giggles), and they tried to figure out who would be Jolt’s next victim.

“Last one.” Sideswipe sent his blue friend an oddly dreamy look. “Go the distance, dude.”

Jolt’s expression hardened as he apparently thought of his remaining options. “…Where’s med-bay?” he asked, optics glinting in the fluorescent light of the corridor.

Danny grinned. “You ar e my hero,” she told him, meaning it emphatically. 

They had to be extremely careful with the last target; even Sideswipe sobered up to a serious state as they crept as innocently as possible toward the med-bay and science bay areas. Danny could hear WJ and Beachcomber talking cheerfully down the hall, but luckily, Ratchet was the only mech in the med-bay. She wasn’t sure what he worked on when there was no one was injured, but he always did seem busy.

The plan was simple, but required a volunteer. Rachel reminded them that Kass was on duty, too, so she quickly dashed in to get Kass to talk “about some stuff.” Kass had been indifferent to the sudden request, but once she saw the whole herd of them (especially Sideswipe’s grin), she tried to backpedal into the room. 

Danny quickly reassured her it wasn’t a prank-prank, especially not toward her. A rushed explanation of the game made Kass grow more and more suspicious. She didn’t look pleased when they asked her for her help.

“You’re joking,” Kass said, eyes narrowed particularly at the camera in Danny’s hands.

Jolt grinned. “Come on, Kass, help a mech out,” he pleaded. 

After much prodding, Kass agreed to distract Ratchet, but that was it. She went back into the med-bay stiffly, and Danny hoped she’d be able to pull the joke off. Kass could keep a pretty straight face, but not to the extent Barns or Jazz could. They waited a minute before Jolt inched his way into the med-bay, again as silent as a cat.

Kass had asked Ratchet to help her look at an elbow joint she was supposed to be learning how to repair in a fake arm he had set up for her. While the medic calmly explained the inner workings of the wiring, Jolt struck. Danny had to lean somewhat into the room in order to get anything but Jolt’s backside.

They had to give both Jolt and Ratchet credit. Jolt lasted a total of twenty seconds, and even though Trailbreaker had demanded thirty or above, the target sort of made ten seconds seem like a world record. Ratchet, despite being just a “simple” medic, validated the long standing rumor that he had both optics on the back of his helm as well as some kind of supernatural six-sense when it came to idiots within his presence.

Jolt was in mid-hip thrust when Ratchet spun around from a nervous Kass on the med-bay table with a surprised expression that instantly turned murderous.

“ _ JOLT _ !” the medic roared. Jolt stopped dancing and his face dropped.

Sideswipe gasped. “Oh, slag,  _ run _ !” He didn’t wait a second hanging around; neither did Trailbreaker or Barns outside.

“Abort, abort!” Danny screamed, dashing after him and Rachel back into the hallway as Ratchet began to hurl tools at Jolt, who by the sound of it didn’t get away in time. Danny glanced down at her camera as they ran full speed down the hallway. “That was Ratchet, in case you guys forgot.”

She doubted her viewers would have forgotten the Autobot CMO, especially after earlier videos of him screaming. This one would probably be the most infamous, considering the resulting flee from his rage was more akin to some kind of “found-footage” horror movie than a nice introduction video. Even still, she counted it as a success, since even humans had screaming, angry people.

…she sincerely hoped Ratchet never found the resulting video, however. Just in case.

**0000**

After Jolt managed to escape Ratchet’s wrath (it took him about half an hour, and only because Kass had pleaded his case), the game resumed. Despite the close call, everyone seemed even more excited to continue the game and increase the stakes. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, Danny thought.

“Sideswipe, I dare you to get pulled over by the cops,” Rachel said, after mulling her prompt over.

Sideswipe snorted. “Pfff, I already do that,” he said, unimpressed. Hound sighed quietly; they had all heard Prowl’s opinions about how much trouble the Lambo twins got into.

Rachel continued, grinning. “And act like you’re drunk. You  _ have _ to get them to give you a sobriety test.”

That gave everyone pause, even while Danny tried to remember if this was a legal thing or not. 

“…Challenge accepted,” Sideswipe said at length, as if he were accepting a mission to blow up  _ Nemesis _ single handedly. He exchanged a high-five with Jolt. “I’ll do it tonight while on patrol. Can’t do it any other time.”

Danny decided to save that part of the game for the next day’s episode, simply to keep the dare a secret from any officers who ended up watching the first half that evening, before Sideswipe’s dare. She knew Prowl, if he ever found out, was going to kill all of them. Regardless, the game continued.

**0000**

Bluestreak didn’t bet big, but as the rounds increased, the gunner finally went with a daring Dare. Barns had grinned so maliciously, Danny felt the immediate need to defend their Praxian friend from whatever her fiancé had in store for him. Luckily, it didn’t turn out too dangerous.

… _ Too _ dangerous.

“You need to paint something visible on Tracks’ back,” Barns told him. He laughed at Bluestreak’s dismayed face and drooping doorwings. 

“B-but if he catches me…” the gunner began, worried. He had the right to be concerned; next to Sunstreaker, Tracks was the most obsessive-compulsive mech when it came to his appearance.

“It’ll be a great prank, Blue,” Danny reassured him. Besides, catching the act on camera would help point out Tracks as an example of Cybertronians having similar neuroses as humans. She considered that a bonus.

Bluestreak still hesitated. “What if he gets angry?” he asked, clearly nervous that Tracks would physically confront him.

Normally, Danny would defend a fellow Autobot by saying that was unlikely, but since it  _ was _ Tracks… he could be just as aggressive as the twins. It was a legitimate concern that Danny was certain she’d edit out of the final video. Woodstock would be so proud of her increasing PR senses.

“We’ll back you up,” Trailbreaker said, encouraging.

“Yeah, and he knows Sunny and me would beat his aft back to Mars if he did anything to you,” Sideswipe added, clapping Bluestreak on the back hard enough to jostle him. “Come on, Blue, let’s do this!”

It didn’t take much convincing Bluestreak to do something when the whole group was prodding him to do it. They borrowed some of Kass’ paints and grabbed a brush large enough that Bluestreak could use, and headed off toward the rec room. By that point, the TV had shifted over to the control of some of the other off-duty mechs, including Jabber. Bluestreak waved his duplicate self over to their game-playing group near the hallway entrance.

“Jabber, I need your help,” he said to his twin in a hurried whisper. Jabber lit up and they quickly filled him in on the plan.

Just as his duplicate did, Jabber wilted a bit. “Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked. Danny could always tell the two mechs apart by how unused to pranks Jabber was compared to Bluestreak, who had spent a decade living with Jazz and Barns.

“Yeah, but it’ll be hilarious.” Sideswipe helm-bumped his mate. “Come onnnn, Jabs, let’s have some fun with that afthead.”

It didn’t take long to get Jabber on their side either. He moved back over to the couch and proceeded to engage Tracks in a one-sided (and probably unwanted) discussion about Earth animals he found to be adorable. Bluestreak took that time to move up as quickly (and innocuously) as possible. Beachcomber saw him move in with the raised paintbrush, but Sideswipe and Trailbreaker hurriedly comm’d him, Danny learned later, to remain quiet. They were lucky he enjoyed pranks, too, since he remained silent and watched with a smile.

They couldn’t risk going up en-masse, so Trailbreaker obligingly held Danny up in the air with her camera to get a distance shot of Bluestreak tentatively moving his paint brush over the small of Tracks’ back, where a rectangular piece of armor stuck out. The brush had a limited amount of white paint on it, so whatever he was drawing must have been simple, which Danny was content with. Hound had moved in a bit with Rachel to bear witness to the act.

After a tense minute or two, Bluestreak all but dropped his brush and sped-walked back over to them. He nervously ran past them out the door, probably to hide back in his room until they followed.

“What did he paint? Did he write ‘kick me’?” Sideswipe asked, excited, when Rachel and Hound moved back over to the main group again.

“Nope.” Rachel arched an eyebrow at him. “He drew a cat.”

There was a pause. “…What?” Jolt asked. 

“It’s  _ Bluestreak _ ,” Hound replied after he disappeared, as if that explained everything. 

It sort of did. “Point,” Sideswipe conceded. He waved goodbye to Jabber, who was scheduled for a patrol soon, so he couldn’t join them.

They barely made it halfway back to the shuttle dorms when they heard the echoing sound of Tracks’ enraged screams.

This video was definitely going to get them killed, Danny mused.  _ Totally worth it! _

**0000**

It was Jolt’s turn to ask Rachel. Danny knew something bad was about to happen, considering the evil glint in Jolt’s optics. Rachel faced him down bravely and adamantly declared, “Dare.”

“I dare you to go kiss Agent Simmons,” the blue mech replied bluntly.

Before anyone else had the chance to react at that insane dare, Rachel was on her feet, enraged. “FUCK YOU!” she screamed.

Danny waved her hands toward the camera. “Whoa! Language!” she exclaimed.

“No, fuck you,” Rachel continued, seething toward Jolt. “ _ No _ damn way.”

“Why not?” Sideswipe demanded, frowning.

“For two  _ very _ good reasons. The first being that if Vortex finds out, he’s going to kill that creeper, and we’ll get in trouble with Keller,” she spat. She pointed at herself. “Second reason being that I’ll kill myself afterwards, too.”

“You have to do a dare though!” Sideswipe complained. “You made Trailbreaker lick Hound’s optic!”

Rachel’s glare increased tenfold. “HOUND ISN’T AGENT SIMMONS!” she howled.

Silence.

“She has a point,” Hound said, reluctant.

“Sorry, Simmons,” Danny whispered to the camera, not entirely apologetic.

Frustrated, Jolt tried to compromise. “Fine! You have to do something to him remotely sexual.”

“Oh, God,” Barns said, the pitiful prayer muffled by his hands again. Danny herself was vaguely sickened. It was a good thing Kass wasn’t there, or else she would probably have gone to get an officer.

“Slap his ass instead,” Sideswipe offered, grinning again.

That only made Rachel go redder. “WHAT? !” she shrieked. Danny winced at the volume.

“Ya can just say ya meant t’ punch him in th’ back,” Hound offered, chuckling. Trailbreaker was just shaking his helm.

Sideswipe nodded sagely. “That’s sort of normal for you,” he added. Danny snorted.

Rachel glared at both mechs. “Shut up,” she hissed. With an angry growl, she threw her hands up. “Oh, fuck’s sake,  _ fine _ !”

Jolt and Sideswipe exchanged a high-five over Bluestreak, who ducked. “Yessss!”

Like a wave of water, Sideswipe and Jolt quickly riled Hound and Trailbreaker to follow them after Rachel, who had climbed off the desk and marched out the door with as much dignity as possible. Danny admired her courage, but was beginning to dread what sort of outcome this might have.

While that herd disappeared out the door and Danny went to grab the camera, Bluestreak looked worriedly over at Danny and Barns.

“Does this mean Rachel is cheating on Vortex?” he asked in a quiet voice, concern in his optics.

Barns choked. “Not a chance in Hell, Blue,” Danny said, trying desperately not to laugh.

**0000**

“Yo, Simmons.”

Agent Simmons had about three seconds to look up from the document in his hands to notice Rachel’s menacing approach from behind, but that wasn’t enough time. 

“Wha— _ HEY _ !”

Danny was holding the camera from the doorway, grinning mostly from sheer adrenaline. Rachel had marched up behind the ex-Sector-7 agent and slapped him on the rear with enough force that the taller man stumbled forward. He spun around and seemed struck speechless as he gawked at the blond woman.

“Oops. Meant to break your spine,” Rachel said without prompt. She turned around, ignoring the bewildered stares of other NEST soldiers nearby. She was holding the offending hand up in the air away from herself as if it wasn’t actually a part of her body. “Time to wash my hands until the first three layers of skin come off.”

Simmons had turned a rather poignant shade of red and sputtered angrily.

“I will not tolerate sexual harassment in the workplace!” he exclaimed.

Turning to walk backwards, Rachel gestured downwards violently. “Suck my  _ dick _ !” she called back.

“Rachel!” Danny shouted, aghast. She’d definitely have to cut that!

Poking in his head into the lobby at Simmons’ indignant yelling, Prowl immediately focused in on the humans. “ _ What  _ is going on?” he demanded.

“Gotta go!” Danny replied quickly, grabbing Rachel and they dashed out of the room. Their accomplices ran with them before Prowl could even have the chance to catch up.

“I think we may want to call it a night,” Barns said, breathless.

The others reluctantly agreed, especially when Ratchet ran into them and took aim at Jolt again. Danny turned her overheated camera off and rushed back to her room to get editing.

**0000**

_ Five _ _ Hours Later _

Approximately three hours after uploaded the edited and severely censored video ( _ boy _ , she was getting better at this editing software), Danny went over to the hangar where the non-Green Card mechs recharged temporarily. She sat down next to Jolt, who was sitting innocently in his alt-mode.

“So,” Danny began.

“So,” Jolt answered, prompting more of a response.

Danny pursed her lips. “The good news is that my viewer numbers have increased and people liked you guys,” she said. “Jazz was jealous he couldn’t make it, but he said we were funny.”

Jolt’s tires moved to the side a bit, like he was shifting on his feet. “The bad news?” he asked.

“Woodstock and Prowl found the video, too.”

Silence.

“Well. Slag,” he said.

Danny grimaced. “Slag,” she agreed.

**0000**

About two hours after reprimanding the responsible mechs and confiscating the raw footage which definitely would cause a stir if it were ever released, Prowl had hoped the indecent game those eight had played earlier would fade from memory. There had been general chaos on base, with Simmons screaming about lawsuits and Ratchet having a spark-attack over all of the somewhat dangerous things (and insultive things, like Jolt’s dancing, which had created a firestorm online) found in the video. Prowl had also endured a forty-minute conversation with Keller over the phone, who was none-too-pleased by the media attention the video was getting. Woodstock claimed it had done well by them, but that did little to please the Director.

The positive side of this was that it was just another example to give humanity that the mechs were just like them. The negative side was this had made all of them look  _ incredibly stupid _ . The pundits were having a field day with this.

Primus knew why any of his soldiers would ever participate in such a ridiculous activity, but he knew Danny was a force to be reckoned with, just like Jazz. She was very lucky they had had such success with her Youtube channel before, or else, Prowl would have had his way and gotten rid of it, and thus, the threat of indecent exposure of their army’s more idiotic members.

After all of that chaos earlier, Prowl had almost begun to relax. Those accountable were lectured and everyone had gone back to their duties. The patrols had gone out and everything was calm on base. At last, it was over.

It was, at least, until Arcee entered his office, wearing a strained grimace. 

“Sir, the Plumas police department just called. They said they have a speeding mech who won’t leave them alone, who is also demanding a sobriety test,” she said. A pained look crossed her faceplates. “Their description of the mech’s exterior fits Sideswipe.”

Prowl glared at the wall behind her and his doorwings twitched.

“ _ DANNY _ !”

  
  


**End “Truth or Dare.”**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Arcee and Wildrider take their relationship to the next level. With some drastic miscalculations. 
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -Yes, Jolt was doing the Ellen DeGeneres Dance Challenge. Google it for better visuals…  
> -Yes, Jabber = this time’s Bluestreak. Bluestreak is from the year 2054, Jabber is from 2009. Same mech, only with very faint personality differences. His chapter is upcoming.  
> -Yes, Bluestreak and Sunny are dating (or the Cybertronian version of it.) Yes, Jabber and Sideswipe are dating. Again, future chapter.  
> -“The Cinnamon Challenge” – is a very unpleasant challenge where you try to eat one tablespoon of Cinnamon without the use of water in over sixty seconds. Don’t try it, seriously.


End file.
